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THE 
MEDITERRANEAN 



The 
MEDITERRANEAN 

Its Storied Cities and Venerable 
Ruins 

By 

T. G. Bonney, E. A. R. Ball, H. D. 
Traill, Grant Allen, Arthur 

Griffiths and Robert Brown 

I 

Illustrated with Photogravures 




NEW YORK 

Barnes ipott d Company 

1902 






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CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I. THE PILLARS OF HERCULES, . . . . i 

Portals of the ancient world — Bay of Tangier at sunrise — Tarifa — 
The Rock of Gibraltar — Wonders of its fortifications — After- 
noon promenade in the Alameda Gardens — Ascending the Rock 
— View from the highest point — The Great Siege — Ceuta, the 
principal Spanish stronghold on the Moorish coast — The rock 
of many names. 

IL ALGIERS, 28 

" A Pearl set in Emeralds " — Two distinct towns; one ancient, 
one modern — The Great Mosque — A Mohammedan religious fes- 
tival — Oriental life in perfection — The road to Mustapha Supd- 
rieur — A true Moorish villa described — Women praying to a 
sacred tree — Excessive rainfall. 

III. MALAGA, 42 

A nearly perfect climate — Continuous existence of thirty cen- 
turies — Granada and the world-renowned Alhambra — Systems of 
irrigation — Vineyards the chief source of wealth — Esparto grass 
— The famous Cape de Gatt — The highest peak of the Sierra 
Nevada— Last view of Granada. 

IV. BARCELONA, 61 

The flower market of the Rambla — Streets of the old town — The 
Cathedral of Barcelona — Description of the Columbus monu- 
ment — All Saints' Day in Spain — Mont Tibidaho — Diverse cen- 
ters of intellectual activity — Ancient history — Philanthropic and 
charitable institutions. 

V. MARSEILLES, 94 

Its Greek founders and early history — Superb view from the sea 
^The Cannebiere — The Prado and Chemin de la Corniche — 
Chateau d'lf and Monte-Cristo ^ Influence of the Greeks in 
Marseilles — Ravages by plague and pestilence — Treasures of 
the Palais des Arts — The Chapel of Notre Dame de la Garde 
— The new Marseilles and its future. 

VI. NICE, 124 

The Queen of the Riviera — The Port of Limpia — Castle Hill — 
Promenade des Anglais — The Carnival and Battle of Flowers 
— Place Massdna, the center of business — Beauty of the suburbs 



vi CONTENTS 



PAGE 



— The road to Monte Carlo — The quaintly picturesque town of 
Villefranche — Aspects of Nice and its environs. 

VII. THE RIVIERA, 145 

In the days of the Doges — Origin of the name — The blue bay 
of Cannes — Ste. Marguerite and St. Honorat — Historical asso- 
ciations — The Rue L'Antibes — The rock of Monaco — " Notre 
Dame de la Roulette " — From Monte Carlo to Mentone — San 
Remo — A romantic railway. 

VIII. GENOA, 160 

Early history — Old fortifications — The rival of Venice — Changes 
of twenty-five years — From the parapet of the Corso — The lower 
town — The Genoese palazzi — Monument to Christopher Colum- 
bus — The old Dogana — Memorials in the Campo Santo — The 
Bay of Spezzia — The Isola Palmeria — Harbor scenes. 

IX. THE TUSCAN COAST, 192 

Shelley's last months at Lerici — Story of his death — Carrara and 
its marble quarries — Pisa — Its grand group of ecclesiastical 
buildings — The cloisters of the Campo Santo — Napoleon's life 
on Elba — Origin of the Etruscans — The ruins of Tarquinii — 
Civita Vecchia, the old port of Rome — Ostia. 

X. VENICE, 220 

Its early days — The Grand Canal and its palaces — Piazza of St. 
Mark- — A Venetian funeral — The long line of islands — Venetian 
glass — Torcello, the ancient Altinum — Its two unique churches. 

XI. ALEXANDRIA, 234 

The bleak and barren shores of the Nile Delta— Peculiar shape 
of the city — Strange and varied picture of Alexandrian street 
life — The Place Mehemet AH — Glorious panorama from the 
Cairo citadel — Pompey's Pillar — The Battle of the Nile — Dis- 
covery of the famous inscribed stone at Rosetta — Port Said 
and the Suez Canal. 

XII. MALTA, 267 

" England's Eye in the Mediterranean " — Vast systems of forti- 
fications — Sentinels and martial music — The Strada Reale of 
Valletta— Church of St. John— St. Elmo— The Military Hos- 
pital, the " very glory of Malta " — Citta Vecchia — Saint Paul 
and his voyages. 



CONTENTS vii 

PAGE 

XIII. SICILY, 295 

Scylla and Charybdis — Messina, the chief commercial center of 
Sicily — The magnificent ruins of the Greek Theater at Taor- 
mina — Omniprescence of Mt. Etna — Approach to Syracuse — 
The famous Latomia del Paradise — Girgenti, the City of Tem- 
ples — Railway route to Palermo — Mosaics — Cathedral and 
Abbey of Monreale — Monte Pellegrino at the hour of sunset. 

XIV. NAPLES, 325 

The Bay of Naples — Vesuvius — Characteristic scenes of street 
life— The al fresco restaurants— Chapel of St. J anuarius— Vir- 
gil's Tomb — Capri, the Mecca of artists and lovers of the 
picturesque — The Emperor Tiberius — Description of the Blue 
Grotto — The coast-road from Castellamare to Sorrento — Amalfi 
—Sorrento, " the village of flowers and the flower of villages " 
— The Temples of Paestum. 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Capri. — The Marina Grande ...... Frojitispiece 



PAGE 



Gibraltar. — View from the Old Mole 14 

Algiers. — Government Square and the Street, La Marine . . 28 
Algiers. — Interior of the Governor's Palace . . . , .36 
Malaga. — General View from Castle . . . . . .52 

Barcelona. — View of Harbor 70 

Marseilles. — Panorama of the Old Port 98 

Nice. — Promenade des Anglais ....... 132 

The Riviera. — San Remo 158 

Genoa. — The Doria Palace — Garden and Doorway , . .172 
The Tuscan Coast. — Pisa — Cathedral Square and Monuments . ig8 

Venice. — The Piazza of St. Mark . 226 

Alexandria. — General View of the City . , . , . 240 
Alexandria. — Scene on Canal ....... 260 

Malta. — General View ......... 274 

Sicily. — View of Taormina and Mt. Etna ..... 298 

Naples. — Panorama from Virgil's Tomb ..... 334 



The 
Mediterranean 

I 

THE PILLARS OF HERCULES 

Portals of the ancient world — Bay of Tangier at sunrise — Tarifa 
— The Rock of Gibraltar — Wonders of its fortifications — 
Afternoon promenade in the Alameda Gardens — Ascending 
the Rock — View from the highest point — The Great Siege — 
Ceuta, the principal Spanish stronghold on the Moorish 
coast — The rock of many names. 

THE " Pillars of Hercules ! " The portals of the 
Ancient World! To how many a traveller just 
beginning to tire of his week on the Atlantic, 
or but slowly recovering, it may be, in his tranquil 
voyage along the coasts of Portugal and Southern Spain, 
from the effects of thirty unquiet hours in the Bay of 
Biscay, has the nearing view of this mighty landmark 
of history brought a message of new life ! That dis- 
tant point ahead, at which the narrowing waters of the 
Strait that bears him disappear entirely within the clasp 
of the embracing shores, is for many such a traveller the 
beginning of romance. He gazes upon it from the west- 
ward with some dim reflection of that mysterious awe 
with which antiquity looked upon it from the East. The 



2 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

progress of the ages has, in fact, transposed the center 
of human interest and the human point of view. Now, 
as in the Homeric era, the Pillars of Hercules form the 
gateway of a world of wonder; but for us of to-day it 
is within and not without those portals that that world 
of wonder lies. To the eye of modern poetry the At- 
lantic and Mediterranean have changed places. In the 
waste of waters stretching westward from the rock of 
Calpe and its sister headland, the Greek of the age of 
Homer found his region of immemorial poetic legend 
and venerable religious myth, and peopled it with the 
gods and heroes of his traditional creed. Here, on the 
bosom of the wide-winding river Oceanus, lay the Islands 
of the Blest — that abode of eternal beauty and calm, 
where " the life of mortals is most easy," where " there 
is neither snow nor winter nor much rain, but ocean is 
ever sending up the shrilly breezes of Zephyrus to re- 
fresh man." But for us moderns who have explored 
this mighty " river Oceanus," this unknown and mysteri- 
ous Atlantic to its farthest recesses, the glamor of its 
mystery has passed away for ever; and it is eastward 
and not westward, through the " Pillars of Hercules," 
that we now set our sails in search of the region of 
romance. It is to the basin of the Mediterranean — 
fringed with storied cities and venerable ruins, with the 
crumbling sanctuaries of a creed which has passed away, 
and the monuments of an art which is imperishable — that 
man turns to-day. The genius of civilization has jour- 
neyed far to the westward, and has passed through 
strange experiences ; it returns with new reverence and 
a deeper awe to that enclave of mid-Europe which con- 
tains its birthplace, and which is hallowed with the mem- 
ories of its glorious youth. The grand cliff-portal 



PHAROS OF TARIFA 3 

which we are approaching is the entrance, the thoughtful 
traveller will always feel, to a region eternally sacred 
in the history of man ; to lands which gave birth to im- 
mortal models of literature and unerring canons of 
philosophic truth; to shrines and temples which guard 
the ashes of those " dead but sceptered sovereigns " who 
" rule our spirits from their urns." 

As our vessel steams onward through the rapidly 
narrowing Straits, the eye falls upon a picturesque ir- 
regular cluster of buildings on the Spanish shore, where- 
from juts forth a rocky tongue of land surmounted by a 
tower. It is the Pharos of Tarifa, and in another half 
hour we are close enough to distinguish the exact out- 
lines of the ancient and famous city named of Tarif Ibn 
Malek, the first Berber sheikh who landed in Spain, and 
itself, it is said — though some etymologists look askance 
at the derivation — the name-mother of a word which is 
little less terrible to the modern trader than was this 
pirate's nest itself to his predecessor of old times. The 
arms of Tarifa are a castle on waves, with a key at the 
window, and the device is not unaptly symbolical of 
her mediaeval history, when her possessors played janitors 
of the Strait, and merrily levied blackmail — the irregular 
tariff of those days — upon any vessel which desired to 
pass. The little town itself is picturesquely situated in 
the deepest embrace of the curving Strait, and the view 
looking westward — with the lighthouse rising sharp and 
sheer against the sky, from the jutting cluster of rock 
and building about its base, while dimly to the left in 
the farther distance lie the mountains of the African 
coast, descending there so cunningly behind the curve 
that the two continents seem to touch and connect the 
channel into a lake — is well worth attentive stud v. An 



4 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

interesting spot, too, is Tarifa, as well as a picturesque 
— interesting at least to all who are interested either in 
the earlier or the later fortunes of post-Roman Europe. 
It played its part, as did most other places, on this com- 
mon battle-ground of Aryan and Semite, in the secular 
struggle between European Christendom and the Mo- 
hammedan East. And again, centuries later, it was 
heard of in the briefer but more catastrophic struggle 
of the Napoleonic wars. From the day when Alonzo 
Perez de Guzman threw his dagger down from its battle- 
ments in disdainful defiance of the threat to murder 
his son, dragged bound before him beneath its walls by 
traitors, it is a " far cry " to the day when Colonel Gough 
of the 87th (the "Eagle-Catchers") beat ofif Marshal 
Victor's besieging army of 1,800 strong, and relieved 
General Campbell and his gallant little garrison; but 
Tarifa has seen them both, and it is worth a visit not 
only for the sake of the ride from it over the mountains 
to Algeciras and Gibraltar, but for its historical asso- 
ciations also, and for its old-world charm. 

We have taken it, as we propose also to take Tangier, 
a little out of its turn ; for the voyaging visitor to Gibral- 
tar is not very likely to take either of these two places 
on his way. It is more probable that he will visit them, 
the one by land and the other by sea, from the Rock 
itself. But Tangier in particular it is impossible to pass 
without a strong desire to make its acquaintance straight- 
way ; so many are the attractions which draw the trav- 
eller to this some-time appanage of the British Crown, 
this African pied a terre, which but for the insensate 
feuds and factions of the Restoration period might be 
England's to-day. There are few more enchanting sights 
than that of the Bay of Tangier as it appears at sun- 



TANGIER 5 

rise to the traveller whose steamer has dropped down 
the Straits in the afternoon and evening hours of the 
previous day and cast anchor after nightfall at the nearest 
point off shore to which a vessel of any draught can 
approach. Nowhere in the world does a nook of such 
sweet tranquillity receive, and for a season, quiet, the 
hurrying waters of so restless a sea. Half a mile or 
so out towards the center of the Strait, a steamer from 
Gibraltar has to plough its way through the surface 
currents which speed continually from the Atlantic to- 
wards the Pillars of Hercules and the Mediterranean 
beyond. Here, under the reddening daybreak, all is calm. 
The blue waters of the bay, now softly flushing at the 
approach of sunrise, break lazily in mimic waves and 
" tender curving lines of creamy spray " upon the shi- 
ning beach. To the right lies the city, spectral in the 
dawn, save where the delicate pale ivory of some of its 
higher houses is warming into faintest rose; while over 
all, over sea and shore and city, is the immersing crystal 
atmosphere of Africa, in which every rock, every ripple, 
every housetop, stands out as sharp and clear as the 
filigree work of winter on a frosted pane. 

Nothing in Tangier, it must be honestly admitted, will 
compare with the approach to it by its incomparable bay. 
In another sense, too, there is nothing here or else- 
where which exactly resembles this " approach," since 
its last stage of all has to be performed alike for man 
and woman — unless man is prepared to wade knee-deep 
in the clear blue water — on the back of a sturdy Moor. 
Once landed, he will find that the picturesqueness of 
Tangier, like that of most Eastern cities, diminishes 
rather than increases on a nearer view. A walk through 
its main street yields nothing particularly worthy of 



6 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

note, unless it be the minaret of the Djama-el-Kebir, 
the principal mosque of the city. The point to which 
every visitor to Tangier directs his steps, or has them 
directed for him, is the Bab-el-Sok, the gate of the 
market place, where the scene to be witnessed at early 
morning presents an unequaled picture of Oriental life. 
. Crouching camels with their loads of dates, chaffering 
traders, chattering women, sly and servile looking Jews 
from the city, fierce-eyed, heavily armed children of the 
desert, rough-coated horses, and the lank-sided mules, 
withered crones squatting in groups by the wayside, 
tripping damsels ogling over the yashmak as they pass, 
and the whole enveloped in a blinding, bewildering, chok- 
ing cloud of such dust as only Africa, " arida nutrix," 
can produce — such dust as would make the pulverulent 
particles of the dryest of turnpikes in the hottest of sum- 
mers, and under the most parching of east winds, appear 
by comparison moist and cool, and no more than pleas- 
ingly titillatory of the mouth and nostrils — let the reader 
picture to himself such a scene with such accessories, and 
he will know what spectacle awaits him at early morn- 
ing at the Bab-el-Sok of Tangier. 

But we must resume our journey eastward towards 
the famous " Rock." There at last it is ! There " dawns 
Gibraltar grand and gray," though Mr. Browning strains 
poetic license very hard in making it visible even " in 
the dimmest north-east distance," to a poet who was at 
that moment observing how " sunset ran one glorious 
blood-red recking into Cadiz Bay." We, at any rate, 
are far enough away from Cadiz before it dawns upon 
us in all its Titanic majesty of outline ; grand, of course, 
with the grandeur of Nature, and yet with a certain 
strange air of human menace as of some piece of At- 



THE ROCK 7 

lantean ordnance planted and pointed by the hand of 
man. This " armamental " appearance of the Rock — a 
look visible, or at any rate imaginable in it, long before 
we have approached it closely enough to discern its actual 
fortifications, still less its artillery — is much enhanced 
by the dead flatness of the land from which its western 
wall arises sheer, and with which by consequence it 
seems to have no closer physical connection than has a 
gun-carriage with the parade ground on which it stands. 
As we draw nearer this effect increases in intensity. The 
surrounding country seems to sink and recede around it, 
and the Rock appears to tower ever higher and higher, 
and to survey the Strait and the two continents, divided 
by it with a more and more formidable frown. As we 
approach the port, however, this impression gives place 
to another, and the Rock, losing somewhat of its " natural- 
fortress " air, begins to assume that resemblance to a 
couchant lion which has been so often noticed in it. Yet 
alas ! for the so-called famous " leonine aspect " of the 
famous height, or alas ! at least for the capricious work- 
ings of the human imagination ! For while to the com- 
piler of one well-reputed guidebook, the outlines of 
Gibraltar seem " like those of a lion asleep, and whose 
head, somewhat truncated, is turned towards Africa as 
if with a dreamy and steadfast deep attention ; " to an- 
other and later observer the lion appears to have " his 
kingly head turned towards Spain, as if in defiance of 
his former master, ever}^ feature having the character 
of leonine majesty and power! " The truth is, of course, 
that the Rock assumes entirely different aspects, accord- 
ing as it is looked at from dift'erent points of view. There 
is certainly a point from which Gibraltar may be made, 
bv the exercise of a little of Polonius's imagination, to 



8 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

resemble some couchant animal with its head turned 
towards Africa — though " a head somewhat truncated," 
is as odd a phrase as a " body som.ewhat decapitated " — 
and contemplating that continent with what we may 
fancy, if we choose, to be " dreamy and steadfast atten- 
tion." But the resemblance is, at best, but a slender one, 
and a far-fetched. The really and strikingly leonine 
aspect of Gibraltar is undoubtedly that which it presents 
to the observer as he is steaming towards the Rock from 
the west, but has not yet come into full view of the 
slope on which the town is situated. No one can possibly 
mistake the lion then. His head is distinctly turned to- 
wards Spain, and what is more, he has a foot stretched 
out towards the mainland, as though in token of his 
mighty grasp upon the soil. Viewed, however, from the 
neutral ground, this Protean clifif takes on a new shape 
altogether, and no one would suppose that the lines 
cf that sheer precipice, towering up into a jagged pin- 
nacle, could appear from any quarter to melt into the 
blunt and massive curves which mark the head and 
shoulders of the King of Beasts. 

At last, however, we are in the harbor, and are about 
to land. To land ! How little does that phrase convey 
to the inexperienced in sea travel, or to those whose 
voyages have begun and ended in stepping from a land- 
ing-stage on to a gangway, and from a gangway on to 
a deck, and vice-versa! And how much does it mean 
for him to whom it comes fraught with recollections of 
steep descents, of heaving seas, of tossing cock-boats, 
perhaps of dripping garments, certainly of swindling 
boatmen ! There are disembarkations in which you come 
in for them all ; but not at Gibraltar, at least under 
normal circumstances. The waters of the port are placid, 



GIBRALTAR 9 

and from most of the many fine vessels that touch there 
you descend by a ladder, of as agreeable an inclination 
as an ordinary flight of stairs. All you have to fear is 
the insidious bilingual boatman, who, unless you strictly 
covenant with him before entering his boat, will have 
you at his mercy. It is true that he has a tariff, and 
that you might imagine that the offense of exceeding it 
would be punished in a place like Gibraltar by imme- 
diate court-martial and execution ; but the traveller should 
not rely upon this. There is a deplorable relaxation of 
the bonds of discipline all over the world. Moreover, 
it is wise to agree with the boatmen for a certain fixed 
sum, as a salutary check upon undue liberality. Most 
steamers anchor at a considerable distance from the 
shore, and on a hot day one might be tempted by false 
sentiment to give the boatman an excessive fee. 

Your hosts at Gibraltar — " spoiling " as they always 
are for the sight of new civilian faces — show themselves 
determined from the first to make you at home. Private 
Thomas Atkins on sentry duty grins broad welcome to 
you from the Mole. The official to whom you have to 
give account of yourself and your belongings greets 
you with a pleasant smile, and, while your French or 
Spanish fellow-traveller is strictly interrogated as to 
his identity, profession, purpose of visit, &c., your Eng- 
lish party is passed easily and promptly in, as men " at 
home " upon the soil which they are treading. Fortunate 
is it, if a little bewildering, for the visitor to arrive at 
midday, for before he has made his way from the land- 
ing-place to his hotel he will have seen a sight which has 
few if any parallels in the world. Gibraltar has its nar- 
row, quiet, sleepy allevs. as have all Southern towns ; and 
any one who confined himself to strolling through and 



lo THE MEDITERRANEAN 

along these, and avoiding the main thoroughfare, might 
never discover tlie strangely cosmopoHtan character of 
the place. He must walk up Waterport Street at midday 
in order to see what Gibraltar really is — a conflux ot 
nations, a mart of races, an Exchange for all the multi- 
tudinous varieties of the human product. Europe, Asia, 
and Africa meet and jostle in this singular highway. 
Tall, stately, slow-pacing Moors from the north-west 
coast ; white-turbaned Turks from the eastern gate of the 
Mediterranean; thick-lipped, and woolly-headed negroids 
from the African interior; quick-eyed, gesticulating Le- 
vantine Greeks ; gabardined Jews, and black-wimpled 
Jewesses ; Spanish smugglers, and Spanish sailors ; 
" rock-scorpions," and red-coated English soldiers — all 
these compose, without completing, the motley moving 
crowd that throngs the main street of Gibraltar in the 
forenoon, and gathers densest of all in the market near 
Commercial Square. 

It is hardly then as a fortress, but rather as a great 
entrepot of trafflc, that Gibraltar first presents itself to 
the newly-landed visitor. He is now too close beneath 
its frowning batteries and dominating walls of rock to 
feel their strength and menace so impressive as at a 
distance; and the flowing tide of many-colored life 
around him overpowers the senses and the imagination 
alike. He has to seek the outskirts of the town on either 
side in order to get the great Rock again, either physically 
or morally, into proper focus. And even before he sets 
out to try its height and steepness by the ancient, if un- 
scientific, process of climbing it — nay, before he even 
proceeds to explore under proper guidance its mighty 
elements of military strength — ^he will discover perhaps 
that sternness is not its onlv feature. Let him stroll 



THE FORTIFICATIONS n 

round in the direction of the race-course to the north of 
the Rock, and across the parade-ground, which hes be- 
tween the town and the larger area on which the reviews 
and field-day evolutions take place, and he will not com- 
plain of Gibraltar as wanting in the picturesque. The 
bold cliff, beneath which stands a Spanish cafe, descends 
in broken and irregular, but striking, lines to the plain, 
and it is fringed luxuriantly from stair to stair with the 
vegetation of the South. Marching and counter-march- 
ing under the shadow of this lofty wall, the soldiers show 
from a little distance like the tin toys of the nursery, 
and one knows not whether to think most of the physical 
insignificance of man beside the brute bulk of Nature, 
or of the moral — or immoral — power which has enabled 
him to press into his service even the vast Rock which 
stands there beetling and lowering over him, and to turn 
the blind giant into a sort of Titanic man-at-arms. 

Such reflections as these, however, would probably 
whet a visitor's desire to explore the fortifications with- 
out delay; and the time for that is not yet. The town 
and its buildings have first to be inspected ; the life of 
the place, both in its military and — such as there is of it 
— its civil aspect, must be studied ; though this, truth to 
tell, will not engage even the minutest observer very long. 
Gibraltar is not famous for its shops, or remarkable, in- 
deed, as a place to buy anything, except tobacco, which, 
as the Spanish Exchequer knows to its cost (and the 
Spanish Customs' officials on the frontier too, it is to be 
feared, their advantage), is both cheap and good. Busi- 
ness, however, of all descriptions is fairly active, as might 
be expected, when we recollect that the town is pretty 
populous for its size, and numbers some 20,000 inhabi- 
tants, in addition to its garrison of from 5,000 to 6,000 



12 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

men. With all its civil activity, however, the visitor is 
scarcely likely to forget — for any length of time — that 
he is in a " place of arms." Not to speak of the shocks 
communicated to his unaccustomed nerves by morning 
and evening gun-fire ; not to speak of the thrilling fan- 
fare of the bugles, executed as only the bugler of a crack 
English regiment can execute it, and echoed and re- 
echoed to and fro, from face to face of the Rock, there 
is an indefinable air of stern order, of rigid discipline, 
of authority whose word is law, pervading everything. 
As the day wears on toward the evening this aspect of 
things becomes more and more unmistakable ; and in the 
neighborhood of the gates, towards the hour of gun- 
fire, you may see residents hastening in, and non-resi- 
dents quickening the steps of their departure, lest the 
boom of the fatal cannon-clock should confine or exclude 
them for the night. After the closing of the gates it is 
still permitted for a few hours to perambulate the streets ; 
but at midnight this privilege also ceases, and no one 
is allowed out of doors without a night-pass. On the 
31st of December a little extra indulgence is allowed. 
One of the military bands will perhaps parade the main 
thoroughfare discoursing the sweet strains of " Auld 
Lang Syne," and the civil population are allowed to " see 
the old year out and the new year in." But a timid and 
respectful cheer is their sole contribution to the cere- 
mony, and at about 12.15 they are marched off again 
to bed : such and so vigilant are the precautions against 
treachery within the walls, or surprise from without. In 
Gibraltar, undoubtedly, you experience something of the 
sensations of men who are living in a state of siege, or 
of those Knights of Branksome who ate and drank in 



THE ALAMEDA 13 

armor, and lay down to rest with corslet laced, and 
with the buckler for a pillow. 

The lions of the town itself, as distinguished from the 
wonders of its fortifications, are few in number. The 
Cathedral, the Garrison Library, Government House, the 
Alameda Gardens, the drive to Europa Point exhaust the 
list ; and there is but one of these which is likely to invite 
— unless for some special purpose or other — a repetition 
of the visit. In the Alameda, however, a visitor may 
spend many a pleasant hour, and — if the peace and beauty 
of a hillside garden, with the charms of subtropical vege- 
tation in abundance near at hand, and noble views of 
coast and sea in the distance allure him — he assuredly 
will. Gibraltar is immensely proud of its promenade, 
and it has good reason to be so. From the point of view 
of Nature and of Art the Alameda is an equal success. 
General Don, who planned and laid it out some three- 
quarters of a century ago, unquestionably earned a title 
to the same sort of tribute as was bestowed upon a famous 
military predecessor. Marshal Wade. Anyone who had 
" seen " the Alameda " before it was made," might well 
have " lifted up his hands and blessed " the gallant officer 
who had converted " the Red Sands," as the arid desert 
once occupying this spot was called, into the paradise of 
geranium-trees which has taken its place. Its monu- 
ments to Elliot and Wellington are not ideal : the mysteri- 
ous curse pronounced upon English statuary appears to 
follow it even beyond seas ; but the execution of the effi- 
gies of these national heroes may, perhaps, be forgotten 
in the interest attaching to their subjects. The residents 
at any rate, whether civil or military, are inured to these 
efforts of the sculptor's art, and have long since ceased 



14 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

to repine. And the afternoon promenade in these gardens 
•^with the English officers and their wives and daugh- 
ters, Enghsh nursemaids and their charges, tourists of 
both sexes and all ages, and the whole surrounded by a 
polyglot and polychromatic crowd of Oriental listeners 
to the military band — is a sight well worth seeing and 
not readily to be forgotten. 

But we must pursue our tour round the peninsula of 
the Rock ; and leaving the new Mole on our right, and 
farther on the little land-locked basin of Rosia Bay, we 
pass the height of Buena Vista, crowned with its bar- 
racks, and so on to the apex of the promontory, Europa 
Point. Here are more barracks and, here on Europa 
Flats, another open and level space for recreation and 
military exercises beneath the cliff wall. Doubling the 
point, and returning for a short distance along the eastern 
side of the promontory, we come to the Governor's Cot- 
tage, a cool summer retreat nestling close to the Rock, 
and virtually marking the limits of our exploration. For 
a little way beyond this the cliff rises inaccessible, the 
road ends, and we must retrace our steps. So far as 
walking or driving along the flat is concerned, the visitor 
who has reached the point may allege, with a certain kind 
of superficial accuracy, that he has " done Gibraltar." 
No wonder that the seasoned globe-trotter from across 
the Atlantic thinks nothing of taking Calpe in his stride. 

To those, however, who visit Gibraltar in a historic 
spirit, it is not to be " done " by any means so speedily 
as this. Indeed, it would be more correct to say that the 
work of a visitor of this order is hardly yet begun. For 
he will have come to Gibraltar not mainly to stroll on a 
sunny promenade, or to enjoy a shady drive round the 
seaward slopes of a Spanish headland, or even to feast 



THE MOORISH CASTLE 15 

his eyes on the glow of Southern color and the pic- 
turesque varieties of Southern life ; but to inspect a great 
world-fortress, reared almost impregnable by the hand 
of Nature, and raised into absolute impregnability by 
the art of man ; a spot made memorable from the very 
dawn of the modern period by the rivalries of nations, 
and famous for all time by one of the most heroic 
exploits recorded in the annals of the human race. To 
such an one, we say, the name of Gibraltar stands before 
and beyond everything for the Rock of the Great Siege; 
and he can no more think of it in the light of a Mediter- 
ranean watering-place, with a romantic, if somewhat 
limited, sea-front, than he can think of the farmhouse 
of La Haye as an " interesting Flemish homestead," or 
the Chateau of Hougoumont as a Belgian gentleman's 
" eligible country house." 

For him the tour of the renowned fortifications will 
be the great event of his visit. Having furnished himself 
with the necessary authorization from the proper military 
authorities (for he will be reminded at every turn of the 
strict martial discipline under which he lives), he will 
proceed to ascend the Rock, making his first halt at a 
building which in all probability he will often before this 
have gazed upon and wondered at from below. This 
is the Moorish Castle, the first object to catch the eye 
of the newcomer as he steps ashore at the Mole, and 
looks up at the houses that clamber up the western slope 
of the Rock. Their ascending tiers are dominated by this 
battlemented pile, and it is from the level on which it 
stands that one enters the famous galleries of Gibraltar. 
The castle is one of the oldest Moorish buildings in 
Spain, the Arabir legend over the south gate recording it 
to have been built in 725 by Abu-Abul-Hajez. Its prin- 



i6 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

cipal tower, the Torre del Homenaje, is riddled with 
shot marks, the scars left behind it by the ever-memorable 
siege. The galleries, which are tunneled in tiers along 
the north front of the Rock, are from two to three miles 
in extent. At one extremity they widen out into the 
spacious crypt known as the Hall of St. George, in which 
Nelson was feasted. No arches support these galleries ; 
they are simply hewn from the solid rock, and pierced 
every dozen yards or so by port-holes, through each of 
which the black muzzle of a gun looks forth upon the 
Spanish mainland. They front the north, these grim 
watchdogs, and seeing that the plain lies hundreds of 
feet beneath them, and with that altitude of sheer rock 
face between them and it, they may perhaps be admitted 
to represent what a witty Frenchman has called le luxe 
et la coquettcrie d' imprenahle, or as we might put it, a 
" refinement on the impregnable." Artillery in position 
implies the possibility of regular siege operations, fol- 
lowed perhaps by an assault from the quarter which the 
guns command; but though the Spanish threw up 
elaborate works on the neutral ground in the second 
year of the great siege, neither then nor at any other 
time has an assault on the Rock from its northern side 
been contemplated. Yet it has once been " surprised " 
from its eastern side, which looks almost equally in- 
accessible ; and farther on in his tour of exploration, the 
visitor will come upon traces of that unprecedented and 
unimitated exploit. After having duly inspected the gal- 
leries, he will ascend to the Signal Tower, known in 
Spanish days as El Hacho, or the Torch, the spot at 
which beacon fires were wont on occasion to be kindled. 
It is not quite the highest point of the Rock, but the 
view from it is one of the most imposing in the world. 



HIGHEST POINT 17 

To the north he the mountains of Ronda, and to the 
far east the Sierra of the Snows that looks down on 
Granada, gleams pale and spectral on the horizon. Far 
beneath you lie town and bay, the batteries with their 
tiny ordnance, and the harbor with its plaything ships ; 
while farther onward, in the same line of vision, the 
African " Pillar of Hercules," Ceuta, looks down upon 
the sunlit waters of the Strait. 

A little farther on is the true highest point of the Rock, 
1,430 feet; and yet a little farther, after a descent of a 
few feet, we come upon the tower known as O'Hara's 
Folly, from which also the view is magnificent, and which 
marks the southernmost point of the ridge. It was built 
by an officer of that name as a watch tower, from which 
to observe the movements of the Spanish fleet at Cadiz, 
which, even across the cape as the crow flies, is distant 
some fifty or sixty miles. The extent, however, of the 
outlook which it actually commanded has probably never 
been tested, certainly not with modern optical appliances, 
as it was struck by lightning soon after its completion. 
Retracing his steps to the northern end of the height, the 
visitor historically interested in Gibraltar will do well 
to survey the scene from here once more before descend- 
ing to inspect the fortifications of the coast line. Far 
beneath him, looking landward, lies the flat sandy part 
of the isthmus, cut just where Its neck begins to widen 
by the British lines. Bevond these, again, extends the 
zone some half mile in breadth of the neutral ground; 
while yet farther inland, the eve lights upon a broken 
and irregular line of earthworks, marking the limit, 
politically speaking, of Spanish soil. These are the most 
notable, perhaps the only, surviving, relic of the great 
siege. In the third year of that desperate leaguer — it 



i8 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

was in 1781 — the Spaniards having tried in vain, since 
June, 1779, to starve out the garrison, resorted to the 
idea of bombarding the town into surrender, and threw 
up across the neutral ground the great earthworks, of 
which only these ruins remain. They had reason, indeed, 
to resort to extraordinary efforts. Twice within these 
twenty-four months had they reduced the town to the 
most dreadful straits of hunger, and twice had it been 
relieved by English fleets. In January, 1780, when Rod- 
ney appeared in the Straits with his priceless freight of 
food, the inhabitants were feeding on thistles and wild 
onions ; the hind quarter of an Algerian sheep was selling 
for seven pounds ten, and an English milch cow for 
fifty guineas. In the spring of 1781, when Admiral 
Darby relieved them for the second time, the price of 
" bad ship's biscuits full of vermin " — says Captain John 
Drinkwater of the 72nd, an actor in the scenes which he 
has recorded — was a shilling a pound ; " old dried peas, 
a shilling and fourpence ; salt, half dirt, the sweepings of 
ships' bottoms, and storehouses, eightpence; and Eng- 
lish farthing candles, sixpence apiece." These terrible 
privations having failed to break the indomitable spirit 
of the besieged, bombardment had, before the construc- 
tion of these lines, been resorted to. Enormous batteries, 
mounting 170 guns and 80 mortars, had been planted 
along the shore, and had played upon the town, without 
interruption, for six weeks. Houses were shattered 
and set on fire, homeless and half-starved families were 
driven for shelter to the southern end of the promontory, 
where again they were harried by Spanish ships sailing 
round Europa Point and firing indiscriminately on shore. 
The troops, shelled out of their quarters, were living in 
tents on the hillside, save when these also were swept 



WORKS ASSAULTED 19 

away by the furious rainstorms of that region. And it 
was to put, as was hoped, the finishing stroke to this 
process of torture, that the great fortifications which have 
been spoken of were in course of construction all through 
the spring and summer of 1781 on the neutral ground. 
General Elliot — that tough old Spartan warrior, whose 
food was vegetables and water, and four hours his maxi- 
mum of continuous sleep, and the contagion of whose 
noble example could alone perhaps have given heart 
enough even to this sturdy garrison — watched the prog- 
ress of the works with anxiety, and had made up his 
mind before the winter came that they must be assaulted. 
Accordingly, at three a. m. on the morning of November 
27, 1 78 1, he sallied forth with a picked band of two thou- 
sand men — a pair of regiments who had fought by his 
side at Minden two-and-twenty years before — and having 
traversed the three-quarters of a mile of intervening coun- 
try in swift silence, fell upon the Spanish works. The 
alarm had been given, but only just before the assailants 
reached the object of their attack; and the affair was 
practically a surprise. The gunners, demoralized and 
panic-stricken, were bayoneted at tlicir posts, the guns 
were spiked, and the batteries themselves set on fire with 
blazing faggots prepared for the purpose. In an hour the 
flames had gained such strength as to be inextinguishable, 
and General Elliot drew off his forces and retreated to the 
town, the last sound to greet their ears as they re-entered 
the gates being the roar of the explosion of the enemy's 
magazines. For four days the camp continued to burn, 
and when the fire had exhausted itself for want of ma- 
terials, the work of laborious months lay in ruins, and the 
results of a vast military outlay were scattered to the 
winds. It was the last serious attempt made against the 



20 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

garrison by the Spaniards from the landward side. The 
fiercest and most furious struggle of the long siege was 
to take place on the shore and waters to the west. 

And so after all it is to the " line-wall " — to that for- 
midable bulwark of masonry and gun-metal which fringes 
the town of Gibraltar from the Old Mole to Rosia Bay — 
that one returns as to the chief attraction from the histor- 
ical point of view, of the mighty fortress. For two full 
miles it runs, zigzagging along the indented coast, and 
broken here and there by water-gate or bastion, famous in 
military story. Here, as we move southward from the Old 
Mole, is the King's Bastion, the most renowned of all. 
Next comes Ragged Staff Stairs, so named from the 
heraldic insignia of Charles V. ; and farther on is 
Jumper's Battery, situated at what is held to be the 
weakest part of the Rock, and which has certainly proved 
itself to be so on one ever memorable occasion. For it 
was at the point where Jumper's Battery now stands that 
the first English landing-party set foot on shore ; it was 
at this point, it may be said, that Gibraltar was carried. 
The fortunes of nomenclature are very capricious, and 
the name of Jumper — unless, indeed, it were specially 
selected for its appropriateness— has hardly a better right 
to perpetuation in this fashion than the name of Hicks. 
For these were the names of the two gallant officers who 
were foremost in their pinnaces in the race for the South 
Mole, which at that time occupied the spot where the 
landing was effected ; and we are not aware that history 
records which was the actual winner. It was on the 
23rd of July, 1704, as all the world knows, that these 
two gallant seamen and their boats' crews made their his- 
toric leap on shore; and after all, the accident which 
had preserved the name of one of them is not more of 



KING CHARLES III. 2i 

what is familiarly called a " fluke " than the project of 
the capture itself, and the retention of the great fortress 
when captured. It is almost comic to think that when 
Sir George Rooke sailed from England, on the voyage 
from which he returned, figuratively speaking, with the 
key of the Mediterranean in his pocket, he had no more 
notion of attacking Gibraltar than of discovering the 
North-West Passage. He simply went to land Eng- 
land's candidate for the Spanish throne, " King Charles 
III.," at Lisbon ; which service performed, he received 
orders from the English Government to sail to the relief 
of Nice and Villa Franca, which were supposed to be in 
danger from the French, while at the same time he was 
pressed by Charles to " look round " at Barcelona, where 
the people, their aspirant-sovereign thought, were ready 
to rise in his favor. Rooke executed both commissions. 
That is to say, he ascertained that there was nothing for 
him to do in either place — that Barcelona would not rise, 
and that Nice was in no danger of falling ; and the ad- 
miral accordingly dropped down the Mediterranean to- 
wards the Straits — where he was joined by Sir Cloud- 
esley Shovel with another squadron — with the view of 
intercepting the Brest Fleet of France, which he had 
heard was about to attempt a junction with that of Tou- 
lon. The Brest Fleet, however, he found had already 
given him the slip, and thus it came about that on the 
17th of July these two energetic naval officers found 
themselves about seven leagues to the east of Tetuan 
with nothing to do. It is hardly an exaggeration to say 
that the attack on Gibraltar was decreed as the distrac- 
tion of an intolerable ennui. The stronghold was known 
to be weakly garrisoned, though, for that time, strongly 
armed; it turned out afterwards that it had only a hun- 



22 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

dred and fifty gunners to a hundred guns, and it was 
thought possible to carry the place by a coup-de-wain. 
On the 2ist the whole fleet came to anchor in Gibraltar 
Bay. Two thousand men under the Prince of Hesse 
were landed on what is now the neutral ground, and 
cut off all communication with the mainland of Spain. 
On the 23rd Rear-Admirals Vanderdussen and Byng 
(the father of a less fortunate seaman) opened fire upon 
the batteries, and after five or six hours' bombardment 
silenced them, and Captain Whittaker was thereupon 
ordered to take all the boats, filled with seamen and 
marines, and possess himself of the South Mole Head. 
Captains Jumper and Hicks were, as has been said, in the 
foremost pinnaces, and were the first to land. A mine 
exploded under their feet, killing two of^cers and a hun- 
dred men, but Jumper and Hicks pressed on with their 
stout followers, and assaulted and carried a redoubt which 
lay between the Mole and the town. Whereupon the 
Spanish Governor capitulated, the gates on the side of the 
isthmus were thrown open to the Prince of Hesse and 
his troops, and Gibraltar was theirs. Or rather it was 
not theirs, except by the title of the " man in possession." 
It was the property of his Highness the Archduke 
Charles, styled his Majesty King Charles III. of Spain, 
and had he succeeded in making good that title in arms, 
England should, of course, have had to hand over to him 
the strongest place in his dominions, at the end of the 
war. But she profited by the failure of her protege. 
The war of the Spanish Succession ended in the recog- 
nition of Philip V. ; and almost against the will of the 
nation — for George I. was ready enough to give it up, 
and the popular English view of the matter was that it 



THE KING'S' BASTION 23 

was " a barren rock, an insignificant fort, and a useless 
charge " — Gibraltar remained on her hands. 

Undoubtedly, the King's Bastion is the center of his- 
toric military interest in Gibraltar, but the line-wall 
should be followed along its impregnable front to com- 
plete one's conception of the sea defenses of the great 
fortress. A little farther on is Government House, the 
quondam convent, which now forms the official resi- 
dence of the Governor ; and farther still the landing-place, 
known as Ragged Staff Stairs. Then Jumper's Bastion, 
already mentioned; and then the line of fortification, 
running outwards with the coast line towards the New- 
Mole and landing-place, returns upon itself, and round- 
ing Rosia Bay trends again southward towards Buena 
Vista Point. A ring of steel indeed — a coat of mail on 
the giant's frame, impenetrable to the projectiles of the 
most terrible of the modern Titans of the seas. The 
casemates for the artillery are absolutely bomb-proof, the 
walls of such thickness as to resist the impact of shots 
weighing hundreds of pounds, while the mighty arches 
overhead are constructed to defy the explosion of the 
heaviest shells. As to its offensive armament, the line- 
wall bristles with guns of the largest caliber, some 
mounted on the parapet above, others on the casemates 
nearer the sea-level, whence their shot could be dis- 
charged with the deadliest efifect at an attacking ship. 

He who visits Gibraltar is pretty sure, at least if time 
permits, to visit Algeciras and San Roque, while from 
farther afield still he will be tempted by Estepona. The 
fi'rst of these places he will be in a hurry, indeed, if he 
misses ; not that the place itself is very remarkable, as 
that it stands so prominently in evidence on the other 



24 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

side of the bay as almost to challenge a visit. Add to 
this the natural curiosity of a visitor to pass over into 
Spanish territory and to survey Gibraltar from the land- 
ward side, and it will not be surprising that the four- 
mile trip across the bay is pretty generally made. On 
the whole it repays ; for though Algeciras is modern and 
uninteresting enough, its environs are picturesque, and 
the artist will be able to sketch the great rock-fortress 
from an entirely new point, and in not the least striking 
of its aspects. 

And now, before passing once for all through the 
storied portal of the Mediterranean, it remains to bestow 
at least a passing glance upon the other column which 
guards the entrance. Over against us, as we stand on 
Europa Point and look seaward, looms, some ten or a 
dozen miles away, the Punta de Africa, the African Pillar 
of Hercules, the headland behind which lies Ceuta, the 
principal Spanish stronghold on the Moorish coast. Of 
a truth, one's first thought is that the great doorway of 
the inland sea has monstrously unequal jambs. Except 
that the Punta de Africa is exactly opposite the Rock 
of Gibraltar, and that it is the last eminence on the 
southern side of the Straits — the point at which the Af- 
rican coast turns suddenly due southward, and all is 
open sea — it would have been little likely to have caught 
the eye of an explorer, or to have forced itself upon the 
notice of the geographer. Such as it is, however, it must 
stand for the African Pillar of Hercules, unless that 
demi-god is to content himself with only one. It is not 
imposing to approach as we make our way directly across 
the Straits from Gibraltar, or down and along them from 
Algeciras towards it : a smooth, rounded hill, surmounted 
by a fort with the Spanish flag floating above it, and 



CEUTA 25 

walled on the sea side, so little can its defenders trust 
to the very slight natural difficulties offered even by its 
most difficult approach. Such is Ceuta in the distance, 
and it is Uttle, if at all, more impressive on a closer in- 
spection. Its name is said to come from Sebta, a cor- 
ruption of Septem, and to have been given it because of 
the seven hills on which it is built. Probably the seven 
hills would be difficult to find and count, or with a more 
liberal interpretation of the word, it might very likely 
be as easy to find fourteen. 

Ceuta, like almost every other town or citadel on this 
battle-ground of Europe and Africa, has played its part 
in the secular struggle between Christendom and Islam. 
It is more than four centuries and a half since it was 
first wrested from the Moors by King John of Portugal, 
and in the hands of that State it remained for another 
two hundred years, when in 1640, it was annexed to the 
Crown of Castille. King John's acquisition of the place, 
however, was unfortunate for his family. He returned 
home, leaving the princes of Portugal in command of his 
new possession ; which, after the repulse of an attempt on 
the part of the Moors to recapture it, he proceeded to 
strengthen with new fortifications and an increased gar- 
rison. Dying in 1428, he was succeeded by his eldest son, 
Edward, who undertook an expedition against Tangier, 
which turned out so unluckily that the Portuguese had 
to buy their retreat from Africa by a promise to restore 
Ceuta, the king's son, Don Ferdinand, being left in the 
hands of the Moors as a hostage for its delivery. In 
spite of this, however, the King and Council refused on 
their return home to carry out their undertaking; and 
though preparations were made for recovering the un- 
fortunate hostage, the death of Edward prevented the 



26 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

project from being carried out, and Prince Ferdinand 
remained a prisoner for several years. Ceuta was never 
surrendered, and passing, as has been said, in the seven- 
teenth century from the possession of Portugal into that 
of Spain, it now forms one of the four or five vantage- 
points held by Spain on the coast of Africa and in its 
vicinity. Surveyed from the neighboring heights, the 
citadel, with the town stretching away along the neck of 
land at its foot, looks like anything but a powerful strong- 
hold, and against any less effete and decaying race than 
the Moors who surround it, it might not possibly prove 
very easy to defend. Its garrison, however, is strong, 
whatever its forts may be, and as a basis of military 
operations, it proved to be of some value to Spain in 
her expedition against Morocco thirty years ago. In 
times of peace it is used by the Spaniards as a convict 
station. 

The internal attractions of Ceuta to a visitor are not 
considerable. There are Roman remains in the neigh- 
borhood of the citadel, and the walls of the town, with 
the massive archways of its gates, are well worthy of 
remark. Its main feature of interest, however, is, and 
always will be, that rock of many names which it thrusts 
forth into the Straits, to form, with its brother column 
across the water, the gateway between the Eastern and 
the Western World. We have already looked upon it 
in the distance from El Hacho, the signal tower on the 
summit of the Rock of Gibraltar. Abyla, " the mountain 
of God," it was styled by the Phoenicians ; Gibel Mo-osa, 
the hill of Musa, was its name among the Moors; it is 
the Cabo de Bullones of the Spaniard, and the Apes' 
Hill of the Englishman. It may be well seen, though 
dwarfed a little by proximity, from its neighboring 



FAREWELL LOOK 27 

Tftfth 1'""°"' "f"'' '^ ""^>^ ^^' ''' '''^^S^ contrast 
with the European Pillar that we have left beSind. It is 

shaped hke a miniature Peak of Tenerifife, with a pointed 
apex slopmg away on either side down high-shouldered 
ndges towards its companion hills, and presenting a 
med and furrowed face to the sea. It is its situation 
as has been noted already, and not its conformation 
which procured it its ancient name. But however earned' 
Its mythical title, with all the halo of poetry and ro- 
mance that the immortal myths of Hellas have shed 
around every spot which they have reached, remains to 

tr 'T^. "? ^''' ^' '^^^ ""''' ^^^^^^» i°<^k of the 
Pillars of Hercules to right and left, and borne onwards 
amidstream by the rushing current of the Straits we 
pass from the modern into the ancient world. 



II 

ALGIERS 

" A Pearl set in Emeralds " — Two distinct towns, one ancient, 
one modern — The Great Mosque — A Mohammedan religious 
festival — Oriental life in perfection — The road to Mustapha 
Superieur — A true Moorish villa described — Women praying 
to a sacred tree — Excessive rainfall. 

^i A LGIERS," says the Arab poet, with genuine 
/-\ Oriental love of precious stones in literature, 
" is a pearl set in emeralds." And even in 
these degenerate days of Frank supremacy in Islam, the 
old Moorish town still gleams white in the sun against 
a deep background of green hillside, a true pearl among 
emeralds. For it is a great mistake to imagine North 
Africa, as untravelled folk suppose, a dry and desert 
country of arid rocky mountains. The whole strip of 
laughing coast which has the Atlas for its backbone may 
rank, on the contrary, as about the dampest, greenest, 
and most luxuriant region of the Mediterranean system. 
The home of the Barbary corsairs is a land of high moun- 
tains, deep glens, great gorges ; a land of vast pine forests 
and thick, verdant undergrowth. A thousand nils 
tumble headlong down its rich ravines ; a thousand 
rivers flow fast through its fertile valleys. For wild 
flowers Algeria is probably unequaled in the whole 
world; its general aspect in many ways recalls on a 

28 



THE SAHEL 29 

smaller scale the less snow-clad part's of eastern 
Switzerland. 

When you approach the old pirate-nest from the sea, 
the first glimpse of the African coast that greets your 
expectant eye is a long, serrated chain of great sun- 
smitten mountains away inland and southward. As the 
steamer nears the land, you begin, after a while, to dis- 
tinguish the snowy ridge of the glorious Djurjura, which 
is the Bernese Oberland of Algeria, a huge block of rear- 
ing peaks, their summits thick-covered by the virgin 
snow that feeds in spring a score of leaping torrents. 
By-and-by, with still nearer approach, a wide bay dis- 
closes itself, and a little range of green hills in the fore- 
ground detaches itself by degrees from the darker mass 
of the Atlas looming large in the distance behind. This 
little range is the Sahel, an outlier just separated from 
the main chain in the rear by the once marshy plain of 
the Metidja, now converted by drainage and scientific 
agriculture into the most fertile lowland region of all 
North Africa. 

Presently, on the seaward slopes of the Sahel, a white 
town bursts upon the eye, a white town so very white, 
so close, so thick-set, that at first sight you would think it 
carved entire, in tier after tier, from a solid block of 
marble. No street or lane or house or public building of 
any sort stands visible from the rest at a little distance ; 
just a group of white steps, you would say, cut out by 
giant hands from the solid hillside. The city of the Deys 
looks almost like a chalk-pit on the slope of an English 
down; only a chalk-pit in relief, built out, not hewn 
inwards. 

As you enter the harbor the strange picture resolves 
itself bit by bit with charming effect into its component 



30 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

elements. White houses rise up steep, one above the 
other, in endless tiers and rows, upon a very abrupt 
acclivity. Most of them are Moorish in style, square, 
flat-roofed boxes; all are whitewashed without, and 
smiling like pretty girls that show their pearly teeth in 
the full southern sunshine. From without they have the 
aspect of a single solid block of stone ; you would fancy 
it was impossible to insert a pin's head between them. 
From within, to him that enters, sundry narrow and 
tortuous alleys discover themselves here and there on 
close inspection ; but they are too involved to produce 
much effect as of streets or rows on the general coup 
d'ocil from the water. 

Land at the quay, and you find at once Algiers con- 
sists of two distinct towns : one ancient, one modern ; 
one Oriental, one Western. Now and again these inter- 
sect, but for the most part they keep themselves severely 
separate. 

The lower town has been completely transformed 
within half a century by its French masters. What it 
has gained in civilization it has lost in picturesqueness. 
A spacious port has been constructed, with massive mole 
and huge arcaded breakwater. Inside, vast archways 
support a magnificent line of very modern quays, bor- 
dered by warehouses on a scale that would do honor to 
Marseilles or to Liverpool. Broad streets run through 
the length and breadth of this transformed Algiers, 
streets of stately shops where ladies can buy all the frip- 
peries and fineries of Parisian dressmakers. Yet even 
here the traveller finds himself already in many ways 
en plein Orient. The general look of the new town itself 
is far more Eastern than that of modernized Alexandria 
since the days of the bombardment. Arabs, Moors and 



THE GREAT MOSQUE 31 

Kabyles crowd the streets and market-places; muffled 
women in loose white robes, covered up to the eyes, flit 
noiselessly with slippered feet over the new-flagged pave- 
ment; turbaned Jews, who might have stepped straight 
out of the " Arabian Nights," chaffer for centimes at the 
shop-doors with hooded mountain Berbers. All is strange 
and incongruous ; all is Paris and Bagdad shaking hands 
as if on the Devonshire hillsides. 

Nor are even Oriental buildings of great architectural 
pretensions wanting to this newer French city. The con- 
querors, in reconstructing Algiers on the Parisian model, 
have at least forborne to Haussmannise in every instance 
the old mosques and palaces. The principal square, a 
broad place lined with palm-trees, is enlivened and made 
picturesque by the white round dome and striking mina- 
rets of the Mosquee de la Pecherie. Hard by stands the 
Cathedral, a religious building of Mussulman origin, half 
Christianized externally by a tower at each end, but en- 
closing within doors its old Mohammedan mimbar and 
many curious remains of quaint Moorish decoration. 
The Archbishopric at its side is a Moorish palace of se- 
vere beauty and grandeur ; the museum of Grseco-Roman 
antiques is oddly installed in the exquisite home raised 
for himself by Mustapha Pasha. The Great Mosque, in 
the Rue Bab-el-Oued, remains to us unspoiled as the 
finest architectural monument of the early Mohammedan 
world. That glorious pile was built by the very first 
Arab conquerors of North Africa, the companions of the 
Prophet, and its exquisite horse-shoe arches of pure white 
marble are unsurpassed in the Moslem world for their 
quaintness, their oddity, and their originality. 

The interior of this mosque is, to my mind, far more 
impressive than anything to be seen even in Cairo itself, 



32 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

so vast it is, so imposing, so grand, so gloomy. The 
entire body of the building is occupied throughout by 
successive arcades, supported in long rows by plain, 
square pillars. Decoration there is none ; the mosque 
depends for effect entirely on its architectural features 
and its noble proportions. But the long perspective of 
these endless aisles, opening out to right and left per- 
petually as you proceed, strikes the imagination of the 
beholder with a solemn sense of vastness and mystery. 
As you pick your way, shoeless, among the loose mats 
on the floor, through those empty long corridors, between 
those buttress-like pillars, the soul shrinks within you, 
awe-struck. The very absence of images or shrines, the 
simplicity and severity, gives one the true Semitic re- 
ligious thrill. No gauds or gewgaws here. You feel 
at once you are in the unseen presence of the Infinite 
and the Incomprehensible. 

The very first time I went into the Great Mosque hap- 
pened, by good luck, to be the day of a Mohammedan 
religious festival. Rows and rows of Arabs in white 
robes filled up the interspaces of the columns, and rose 
and fell with one accord at certain points of the service. 
From the dim depths by the niche that looks towards 
Mecca a voice of some unseen ministrant droned slowly 
forth loud Arabic prayers or long verses from the Koran. 
At some invisible signal, now and again, the vast throng 
of worshippers, all ranged in straight lines at even dis- 
tances between the endless pillars, prostrated themselves 
automatically on their faces before Allah, and wailed 
aloud as if in conscious confession of their own utter 
unworthiness. The effect was extraordinary, electrical, 
contagious. No religious service I have ever seen else- 
where seemed to me to possess such a profundity of ear- 



THE OLD TOWN 33 

nest humiliation, as of man before the actual presence 
of his Maker. It appeared to one like a chapter of Nehe- 
miah come true again in our epoch. We few intrusive 
Westerns, standing awe-struck by the door, slunk away, 
all abashed, from this scene of deep abasement. We had 
no right to thrust ourselves upon the devotions of these 
intense Orientals. We felt ourselves out of place. We 
had put off our shoes, for the place we stood upon was 
holy ground. But we slunk back to the porch, and put 
them on again in silence. Outside, we emerged upon the 
nineteenth century and the world. Yet even so, we had 
walked some way down the Place de la Regence, among 
the chattering negro pedlers, before one of us dared to 
exchange a single word with the other. 

If the new town of Algiers is interesting, however, the 
old town is unique, indescribable, incomprehensible. No 
map could reproduce it; no clue could unravel it. It 
climbs and clambers by tortuous lanes and steep stair- 
cases up the sheer side of a high hill to the old fortress 
of the Deys that crowns the summit. Not one gleam of 
sunshine ever penetrates down those narrow slits between 
the houses, where two people can just pass abreast, brush- 
ing their elbows against the walls, and treading with 
their feet in the poached filth of the gutter. The dirt 
that chokes the sides is to the dirt of Italy as the dirt of 
Italy is to the dirt of Whitechapel. And yet so quaint, 
so picturesque, so interesting is it all, that even delicate 
ladies, with the fear of typhoid fever for ever before 
their eyes, cannot refuse themselves the tremulous joy 
of visiting it and exploring it over and over again ; nay, 
more, of standing to bargain for old brass-work or Al- 
gerian embroidery with keen Arab shopkeepers in its 
sunless labyrinths. Except the Mooskee at Cairo, indeed, 



34 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

I know no place yet left where you can see Oriental life 
in perfection as well as the old town of Algiers. For are 
there not tramways nowadays even in the streets of 
Damascus? Has not a railway station penetrated the 
charmed heart of Stamboul? The Frank has done his, 
worst for the lower town of his own building, but the 
upper town still remains as picturesque, as mysterious, 
and as insanitary as ever. No Pasteur could clean out 
those Augean stables. 

In those malodorous little alleys, where every pros- 
pect pleases and every scent is vile, nobody really walks ; 
veiled figures glide softly as if to inaudible music ; ladies, 
muffled up to their eyes, use those solitary features with 
great effect upon the casual passer-by ; old Moors, in 
stately robes, emerge with stealthy tread from half- 
unseen doorways; boys clad in a single shirt sit and 
play pitch-and-toss for pence on dark steps. Everything 
reeks impartially of dirt and of mystery. All is gloom 
and shade. You could believe anything on earth of that 
darkling old town. There all Oriental fancies might 
easily come true, all fables might revive, all dead history 
might repeat itself. 

These two incongruous worlds, the ancient and the 
modern town, form the two great divisions of Algiers 
as the latter-day tourist from our cold North knows it. 
The one is antique, lazy, sleepy, unprogressive ; the other 
is bustling, new-world, busy, noisy, commercial. But 
there is yet a third Algiers that lies well without the wall, 
the Algiers of the stranger and of the winter resident. 
Hither Mr. Cook conducts his eager neophytes ; hither 
the Swiss innkeeper summons his cosmopolitan guests. 
It reaches its culminating point about three miles from 



MUSTAPHA SUPERIEUR 35 

the town, on the heights of Mustapha Superieur, where 
charming villas spread thick over the sunlit hills, and 
where the Western visitor can enjoy the North African 
air without any unpleasant addition of fine old crusted 
Moorish perfumes. 

The road to Mustapha Superieur lies through the Bab- 
Azzoun gate, and passes first along a wide street thronged 
with Arabs and Kabyles from the country and the moun- 
tains. This is the great market road of Algiers, the 
main artery of supplies, a broad thoroughfare lined with 
fondouks or caravanserais, where the weary camel from 
the desert deposits his bales of dates, and where black 
faces of Saharan negroes smile out upon the curious 
stranger from dense draping folds of some dirty bur- 
nouse. The cafes are filled with every variety of Mos- 
lem, Jew, Turk, and infidel. Nowhere else will you see 
to better advantage the wonderful variety of races and 
costumes that distinguishes Algiers above most other 
cosmopolitan Mediterranean cities. The dark M'zabite 
from the oases, arrayed like Joseph in a coat of many 
colors, stands chatting at his own door with the pale- 
faced melancholy Berber of the Aures mountains. The 
fat and dusky Moor, over- fed on kous-kous, jostles cheek 
by jowl with the fair Jewess in her Paisley shawl and 
quaint native head-gear. Mahonnais Spaniards from the 
Balearic Isles, girt round their waists with red scarves, 
talk gaily to French missionary priests in violet bands 
and black cassocks. Old Arabs on white donkeys amble 
with grave dignity down the center of the broad street, 
where chasseurs in uniform and spahis in crimson cloaks 
keep them company on fiery steeds from the Government 
stud at Blidah. All is noise and bustle, hurry, scurry, 



36 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

and worry, the ant-hill life of an English bazaar gro- 
tesquely superimposed on the movement and stir of a 
great European city. 

You pass through the gates of the old Moorish town 
and find yourself at once in a modern but still busy 
suburb. Then on a sudden the road begins to mount the 
steep Mustapha slope by sharp zigzags and bold gra- 
dients. In native Algerian days, before Allah in his 
wisdom mysteriously permitted the abhorred infidel to 
bear sway in the Emerald City over the Faithful of Islam, 
a single narrow mule-path ascended from the town wall 
to the breezy heights of Mustapha. It still exists, though 
deserted, that old breakneck Mussulman road, a deep 
cutting through soft stone, not unlike a Devonshire lane, 
all moss-grown and leafy, a favorite haunt of the natural- 
ist and the trap-door spider. But the French engineers, 
most famous of road-makers, knew a more excellent 
way. Shortly after the conquest they carved a zigzag 
carriage-drive of splendid dimensions up that steep hill- 
front, and paved it well with macadam of most orthodox 
solidity. At the top, in proof of their triumph over na- 
ture and the Moslem, they raised a tiny commemorative 
monument, the Colonne Voirol, after their commander's 
name, now the Clapham Junction of all short excursions 
among the green dells of the Sahel. 

The Mustapha road, on its journey uphill, passes 
many exquisite villas of the old Moorish corsairs. The 
most conspicuous is that which now forms the Governor- 
General's Summer Palace, a gleaming white marble pile 
of rather meretricious and over-ornate exterior, but all 
glorious within, to those who know the secret of decora- 
tive art, with its magnificent heirloom of antique tiled 
dados. Many of the other ancient villas, however, and 



A MOORISH VILLA 37 

notably the one occupied by Lady Mary Smith-Barry, 
are much more really beautiful, even if less externally 
pretentious, than the Summer Palace. One in particular, 
near the last great bend of the road, draped from the 
ground to the flat roof with a perfect cataract of bloom 
by a crimson bougainvillea, may rank among the most 
picturesque and charming homes in the French 
dominions. 

It is at Mustapha, or along the El Biar road, that the 
English colony of residents or winter visitors almost en- 
tirely congregates. Nothing can be more charming than 
this delicious quarter, a wilderness of villas, with its 
gleaming white Moorish houses half lost in rich gardens 
of orange, palm, and cypress trees. How infinitely love- 
lier these Eastern homes than the fantastic extravagances 
of the Californie at Cannes, or the sham antiques on the 
Mont Boron \ The native North African style of archi- 
tecture answers exactly to the country in whose midst it 
was developed. In our cold northern climes those open 
airy arcades would look chilly and out of place, just as 
our castles and cottages would look dingy and incon- 
gruous among the sunny nooks of the Atlas. But here, 
on the basking red African soil, the milk-white Moorish 
palace with its sweeping Saracenic arches, its tiny round 
domes, its flat, terraced roofs, and its deep perspective 
of shady windows, seems to fit in with land and climate 
as if each were made for the other. Life becomes abso- 
lutely fairy-like in these charming old homes. Each 
seems for the moment while you are in it just a dream 
in pure marble. 

I am aware that to describe a true Moorish villa is like 
describing the flavor of a strawberry ; the one must be 
tasted, the other seen. But still, as the difficulty of a 



38 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

task gives zest to the attempt at surmounting it, I will 
try my hand at a dangerous word-picture. Most of the 
Mustapha houses have an outer entrance-court, to which 
you obtain admission from the road by a plain, and often 
rather heavy, archway. But, once you have reached the 
first atrium, or uncovered central court, you have no 
reason to complain of heaviness or want of decoration. 
The court-yard is generally paved with parti-colored 
marble, and contains in its center a Pompeian-looking 
fountain, whose cool water bubbles over into a shallow 
tank beneath it. Here reeds and tall arums lift their 
stately green foliage, and bright pond-blossoms rear on 
high their crimson heads of bloom. Round the quad- 
rangle runs a covered arcade (one might almost say a 
cloister) of horse-shoe arches, supported by marble col- 
umns, sometimes Grzeco-Roman antiques, sometimes a 
little later in date, but admirably imitated from the orig- 
inals. This outer court is often the most charming fea- 
ture of the whole house. Here, on sultry days, the ladies 
of the family sit with their books or their fancy-work ; 
here the lord of the estate smokes his afternoon cigar; 
here the children play in the shade during the hottest 
African noon-day. It is the place for the siesta, for the 
afternoon tea, for the lounge in the cool of the evening, 
for the joyous sense of the delight of mere living. 

From the court-yard a second corridor leads into the 
house itself, whose center is always occupied by a large 
square court, like the first in ground-plan, but two- 
storied and glass-covered. This is the hall, or first re- 
ception room, often the principal apartment of the whole 
house, from which the other rooms open out in every 
direction. Usually the ground-floor of the hall has an 
open arcade, supporting a sort of balcony or gallery 



FINEST VIEWS 39 

above, which runs right round the first floor on top of 
it. This balcony is itself arcaded ; but instead of the 
arches being left open the whole way up, they are filled 
in for the first few feet from the floor with a charming 
balustrade of carved Cairene woodwork. Imagine such 
a court, ringed round with string-courses of old Oriental 
tiles, and decorated with a profusion of fine pottery and 
native brasswork, and you may form to yourself some 
faint mental picture of the common remodeled Algerian 
villa. It makes one envious again to remember how 
many happy days one has spent in some such charming 
retreats, homes where all the culture and artistic taste 
of the West have been added to all the exquisite decora- 
tive instinct and insight of the Oriental architect. 

Nor are fair outlooks wanting. From many points of 
view on the Mustapha Hill the prospect is among the 
most charming in the western Mediterranean. Sir Lam- 
bert Playfair, indeed, the learned and genial British 
Consul-General whose admirable works on Algeria have 
been the delight of every tourist who visits that beauti- 
ful country, is fond of saying that the two finest views 
on the Inland Sea are, first, that from the Greek Theater 
at Taormina, and, second, that from his own dining-room 
windows on the hill-top at El Biar. This is very strong 
praise, and it comes from the author of a handbook to 
the Mediterranean who has seen that sea in all aspects, 
from Gibralta to Syria; yet I fancy it is too high, es- 
pecially when one considers that among the excluded 
scenes must be put Naples, Sorrento, Amalfi, Palermo, 
and the long stretch of Venice as seen from the Lido. 
I would myself even rank the outlook on Monaco from 
the slopes of Cap Martin, and the glorious panorama of 
Nice and the Maritime Alps from the Lighthouse Hill at 



40 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

Antibes, above any picture to be seen from the northern 
spurs of the Sahel. Let us be just to Pirseus before we 
are generous to El Biar. But all this is, after all, a mere 
matter of taste, and no lover of the picturesque would at 
any rate deny that the Bay of Algiers, as viewed from 
the Mustapha Hill, ranks deservedly high among the 
most beautiful sights of the Mediterranean. And when 
the sunset lights up in rosy tints the white mole and the 
marble town, the resulting scene is sometimes one of 
almost fairy-like splendor. 

Indeed, the country round Mustapha is a district of 
singular charm and manifold beauty. The walks and 
drives are delicious. Great masses of pale white clematis 
hang in sheets from the trees, cactus and aloe run riot 
among the glens, sweet scents of oleander float around 
the deep ravines, delicious perfumes of violets are wafted 
on every breeze from unseen and unsuspected gardens. 
Nowhere do I know a landscape so dotted with houses, 
and nowhere are the houses themselves so individually 
interesting. The outlook over the bay, the green dells 
of the foreground, the town on its steep acclivity, the 
points and headlands, and away above all, in the opposite 
direction, the snow-clad peaks of the Djurjura, make up 
a picture that, after all, has few equals or superiors on 
our latter-day planet. 

One of the sights of Mustapha is the Arab cemetery, 
where once a week the women go to pray and wail, with 
true Eastern hyperbole, over the graves of their dead 
relations. By the custom of Islam they are excluded 
from the mosques and from all overt participation in the 
public exercises of religion ; but these open-air temples 
not made with hands, even the Prophet himself has never 
dared to close to them. Ancestor-worship and the vene- 



SEMITIC IDOLATRY 41 

ration of the kindred dead have always borne a large 
part in the domestic creed of the less civilized Semites, 
and, like many other traces of heathenism, this antique 
cult still peeps sturdily through the thin veil of Moham- 
medan monotheism. Every hillock in the Atlas outliers 
is crowned by the tiny domed tomb, or koubba, of some 
local saint; every sacred grove overshadows the relics of 
some reverend Marabout. Nay, the very oldest forms 
of Semitic idolatry, the cult of standing stones, of holy 
trees, and of special high places on the mountain-tops, 
survive to this day even in the midst of Islam. It is the 
women in particular who keep alive these last relics of 
pre-Moslem faith ; it is the women that one may see 
weeping over the narrow graves of their loved ones, 
praying for the great desire of the Semitic heart, a man- 
child from Allah, before the sacred tree of their pagan 
ancestors, or hanging rags and dolls as offerings about 
the holy grove which encloses the divine spring of pure 
and hallowed water. 

Algiers is thus in many ways a most picturesque 
winter resort. But it has one great drawback : the climate 
is moist and the rainfall excessive. Those who go there 
must not expect the dry desert breeze that renders Luxor 
and Assiout so wholesome and so unpleasant. Beautiful 
vegetation means rain and heat. You will get both in 
Algiers, and a fine Mediterranean tossing on your jour- 
ney to impress it on your memory. 



Ill 

MALAGA 

A nearly perfect climate — Continuous existence of thirty cen- 
turies — Granada and the world-renowned Alhambra — Sys- 
tems of irrigation — Vineyards the chief source of wealth — 
Esparto grass — The famous Cape de Gatt — The highest peak 
of the Sierra Nevada — Last view of Granada. 

MALAGA has been very differently described and 
appreciated. The Arab chroniclers who knew 
it in the palmy days of the Moorish domina- 
tion considered it " a most beautiful city, densely peopled, 
large and most excellent." Some rose to poetical rhap- 
sody in describing it ; they praised it as " the central 
jewel of a necklace, a land of paradise, the pole star, the* 
diadem of the moon, the forehead of a bewitching beauty 
unveiled." A Spanish poet was not less eloquent, and 
sang of Malaga as " the enchantress, the home of eternal 
spring, bathed by the soft sea, nestling amidst flowers." 
Ford, on the other hand, that prince of guide-book 
makers, who knew the Spain of his day intimately from 
end to end, rather despised Malaga. He thought it a fine 
but purely commercial city, having " few attractions be- 
yond climate, almonds and raisins, and sweet wine." 
Malaga has made great strides nevertheless in the fifty- 
odd years since Ford so wrote of it While preserving 
many of the charming characteristics which evoked such 

42 



GENERAL VIEW 43 

high-flown encomiums in the past, it has developed con- 
siderably in trade, population, and importance. It grows 
daily; building is constantly in progress, new streets are 
added year after year to the town. Its commerce flour- 
ishes ; its port is filled with shipping which carry off its 
many manufactures : chocolate, liquorice, porous jars, and 
clay figures, the iron ores that are smelted on the spot; 
the multifarious products of its fertile soil, which grows 
in rich profusion the choicest fruits of the earth : grapes, 
melons, plantains, guava, cjuince, Japanese medlars, 
oranges, lemons, and prickly years. All the appliances 
and luxurious aids to comfort known to our latter-day 
civilization are to be found in Malaga: several theaters, 
one of them an opera house, clubs, grand hotels, bankers, 
English doctors, cabs. It rejoices too in an indefeasible 
and priceless gift, a nearly perfect climate, the driest and 
balmiest in Southern Europe. Rain falls in Malaga but 
half a dozen days in the year, and its winter sun would 
shame that of an English summer. It has a southern 
aspect, and is sheltered from the north by an imposing 
range of mountains ; its only trouble is the terral or north- 
west wind, the same disagreeable visitor as that known 
on the Italian Riviera as the Tramontana, and in the 
south of France as the Mistral. These climatic advan- 
tages have long recommended Malaga as a winter health 
resort for delicate and consumptive invalids, and an in- 
creasingly successful rival to Madeira, Malta, and Al- 
giers. The general view of this city of sunshine, looking 
westward, to which point it lies open, is pleasing and 
varied; luxuriant southern vegetation, aloes, palmetto, 
and palms, fill up the foreground ; in the middle distance 
are the dazzling white facades and towers of the town, 
the great amphitheater of the bull ring, the tall spire of 



44 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

the Cathedral a very conspicuous object, the whole set 
off by the dark blue Mediterranean, and the reddish- 
purple background of the Sierra Bermeja or Vermilion 
Hills. 

There is active enjoyment to be got in and near Malaga 
as well as the mere negative pleasure of a calm, lazy life 
amid beautiful scenes. It is an excellent point of de- 
parture for interesting excursions. Malaga lies on the 
fringe of a country full of great memories, and preserv- 
ing many curious antiquarian remains. It is within easy 
reach by rail of Granada and the world-renowned Al- 
hambra, whence the ascent of the great southern snowy 
range, the Sierra Nevada, may be made with pleasurable 
excitement and a minimum of discomfort. Other towns 
closely associated with great events may also be visited : 
Alhama, the mountain key of Granada, whose capture 
preluded that of the Moorish capital and is enshrined in 
Byron's beautiful verse; Ronda, the wildly picturesque 
town lying in the heart of its own savage hills ; Almeria, 
Antequera, Archidona, all old Moorish towns. By the 
coast road westward, a two days' ride, through Estepona 
and Marbella. little seaside towns bathed by the tideless 
Mediterranean, Gibraltar may be reached. Inland, a 
day's journey, are the baths of Caratraca, delightfully 
situated in a narrow mountain valley, a cleft of the 
rugged hill, and famous throughout Spain. The waters 
are akin to those of Harrogate, and are largely patron- 
ized by crowds of the bluest-blooded hidalgos, the most 
fashionable people, Spaniards- from La Corte (Madrid), 
and a^l parts of the Peninsula. Yet another series of 
riding excursions may be made into the wild Alpujarras, 
a desolate and uncultivated district gemmed with bright 
oases of verdure, which are best reached by the coast 



ROUTE TO GRANADA 45 

road leading from Malaga through Velez Malaga, Motril 
to Adra, and which is perhaps the pleasantest route to 
Granada itself. On one side is the dark-blue sea; on the 
other, vine-clad hills : this is a land, to use Ford's words, 
" overflowing with oil and wine ; here is the palm with- 
out the desert, the sugar-cane without the slave ; " old 
Moorish castles perched like eagles' eyries crown the 
hills ; below cluster the spires and towers of churches and 
convents, hemmed in by the richest vegetation. The 
whole of this long strip of coast is rich with the alluvial 
deposits brought down by the mountain torrents from 
the snowy Sierras above ; in spring time, before the sum- 
mer heats have parched the land, everything flourishes 
here, the sweet potato, indigo, sugar-cane and vine ; 
masses of wild flowers in innumerable gay colors, the 
blue iris, the crimson oleander, geraniums, and luxuriant 
festoons of maidenhair ferns bedeck the landscape around. 
It is impossible to exaggerate the delights of these riding 
trips ; the traveller relying upon his horse, which carries 
a modest kit, enjoys a strange sense of independence: he 
can go on or stop, as he chooses, lengthen or shorten his 
day's journey, which takes him perpetually and at the 
leisurely pace which permits ample observation of the 
varied views. The scene changes constantly : now he 
threads a half-dried watercourse, thick with palmetto and 
gum cistus ; now he makes the slow circuit of a series 
of little rocky bays washed by the tideless calm of the 
blue sea; now he breasts the steep slope, the seemingly 
perilous ascent of bold cliffs, along which winds the 
track made centuries since when the most direct was 
deemed the shortest way to anywhere in spite of the diffi- 
culties that intervened. 

Malaga as a seaport and place of settlement can claim 



46 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

almost fabulous antiquity. It was first founded by the 
Phoenicians three thousand years ago, and a continuous 
existence of thirty centuries fully proves the wisdom of 
their choice. Its name is said to be Phoenician, and is 
differently derived from a word meaning salt, and an- 
other which would distinguish it as " the king's town." 
From the earliest ages Malaga did a thriving business in 
salt fish ; its chief product and export were the same 
anchovies and the small boqiicrones, not unlike an Eng- 
lish whitebait, which are still the most highly prized deli- 
cacies of the Malaga fish market. Southern Spain was 
among the richest and most valued of Phoenician posses- 
sions. It was a mine of wealth to them, the Tarshish of 
Biblical history from which they drew such vast sup- 
plies of the precious metals that their ships carried silver' 
anchors. Hiram, King of Tyre, was a sort of goldsmith 
to Solomon, furnishing the wise man's house with such 
stores of gold and silver utensils that silver was " ac- 
counted nothing therein," as we read in the First Book 
of Kings. When the star of Tyre and Sidon waned, and 
Carthage became the great commercial center of the 
Mediterranean, it controlled the mineral wealth of Spain 
and traded largely with Malaga. Later, when Spain 
passed entirely into Roman hands, this southern province 
of Boetica grew more and more valuable, and the wealth 
of the country passed through its ports eastward to the 
great marts of the world. Malaga, however, was never 
the equal either in wealth or commercial importance of 
its more eastern and more happily placed neighbor Al- 
meria. The latter was the once famous " Portus Mag- 
nus," or Great Port, which monopolized most of the 
maritime traffic with Italy and the more distant East, 
But Malaga rose in prosperity as Roman settlers crowded 



ANDALUCIA 47 

into Boetica, and Roman remains excavated in and around 
the town attest the size and importance of the place under 
the Romans. It was a municipium, had a fine ampithea- 
ter, the foundations of which were laid bare long after- 
wards in building a convent, while many bronzes, frag- 
ments of statuary, and Roman coins found from time to 
time prove the intimate relations between Malaga and 
the then Mistress of the World. The Goths, who came 
next, overran Boetica, and although their stay was short, 
they rechristened the province, which is still known by 
their name, the modern Andal-, or Vandalucia. Malaga 
was a place of no importance in the time of the Visigoths, 
and it declined, only to rise with revived splendor under 
the Moors, when it reached the zenith of its greatness, 
and stood high in rank among the Hispano-Mauresque 
cities. 

It was the same one-eyed Berber General, Tarik, who 
took Gibraltar who was the first Moorish master of 
Malaga. Legendary story still associates a gate in the 
old Moorish castle, the Gibralfaro, with the Moorish in- 
vasion. This Puerta de la Cava was called, it has been 
said, after the ill-used daughter of Count Julyan whose 
wrongs led to the appeal to Moorish intervention. But 
it is not known historically that Count Julyan had a 
daughter named La Cava, or any daughter at all ; nor 
is it likely that the Moors would remember the Christian 
maiden's name as sponsor for the gate. After the 
Moorish conquest Malaga fell to the tribes that came 
from the river Jordan, a pastoral race who extended their 
rule to the open lands as far as Archidona. The rich- 
ness of their new possession attracted great hordes of 
Arabs from their distant homes ; there was a general 
exodus, and each as it came to the land of promise settled 



48 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

where they found anything that recalled their distant 
homes. Thus the tribes from the deserts of Palmyra 
found a congenial resting-place on the arid coast near 
Almeria and the more rugged kingdom of Murcia; the 
Syrian mountaineers established themselves amidst the 
rocky fastness of the Ronda Serrania ; while those from 
Damascus and Bagdad reveled in the luxuriant beauty 
of the fertile plains watered by the Xenil and Darro, the 
great Vega, with its orange-groves and jeweled gardens 
that still make Granada a smiling paradise. 

These Moslem conquerors were admirable in their ad- 
ministration and development of the land they seized, 
quick to perceive its latent resources and make the most 
of them. Malaga itself became the court and seat of 
government of a powerful dynasty whose realms ex- 
tended inland as far as Cordova, and the region around 
grew under their energetic and enlightened management 
into one great garden teeming with the most varied vege- 
tation. What chiefly commended Malaga to the Moors 
was the beauty of its climate and the amazing fertility 
of the soil. The first was a God-sent gift, the latter 
made unstinting return for the labor freely but intelli- 
gently applied. Water was and still is the great need 
of those thirsty and nearly rainless southern lands, and 
the Moorish methods of irrigation, ample specimens of 
which still survive, were most elaborate and effective con- 
trivances for distributing the fertilizing fluid. Many of 
these ancient systems of irrigation are still at work at 
Murcia, Valencia, Granada, and elsewhere. The Moors 
were masters of hydraulic science, which was never more 
widely or intelligently practiced than in the East. So 
the methods adopted and still seen in Spain have their 
Oriental prototypes and counterparts. They varied, of 



IRRIGATION 49 

course, with the character of the district to be irrigated 
and the sources of supply. Where rivers and running 
water gave the material, it was conveyed in canals ; one 
main trunk-line or artery supplied the fluid to innumer- 
able smaller watercourses or veins, the accquias, which 
formed a reticulated network of minute ramifications. 
The great difficulty in the plains, and this was especially 
the case about Malaga, was to provide a proper fall, 
which was effected either by carrying the water to a 
higher level by an aqueduct, or sinking it below the sur- 
face in subterranean channels. Where the water had to 
be raised from underground, the simple pole, on which 
worked an arm or lever with a bucket, was used, the 
identical " shadoof " of the Nile ; or the more elaborate 
water-wheel, the Arab Anaoiira, a name still preserved 
in the Spanish Noria, one of which is figured in the Al- 
meria washing-place, where it serves the gossiping 
lavaiideras at their work. In these norias the motive 
power is usually that of a patient ox, which works a 
revolving wheel, and so turns a second at right angles 
armed with jars or buckets. These descend in turn, 
coming up charged with water, which falls over into a 
reservoir or pipe, whence it flows to do its business 
below. 

Under this admirable system the land gives forth per- 
petual increases. It knows no repose. Nothing lies fal- 
low. " Man is never weary of sowing, nor the sun of 
calling into life." Crop succeeds crop with astonishing 
rapidity ; three or four harvests of corn are reaped in 
the year, twelve or fifteen of clover and lucerne. All 
kinds of fruit abound ; the margins of the watercourses 
blossom with flowers that would be prized in a hothouse, 
and the most marvelous fecundity prevails. By these 



50 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

means the Moors of Malaga, the most scientific and suc- 
cessful of gardeners, developed to the utmost the mar- 
velously prolific soil. Moorish writers described the 
pomegranates of Malaga as red as rubies, and unequaled 
in the whole world. The brevas, or small green figs, 
were of exquisitely delicious flavor, and still merit that 
encomium. Grapes were a drug in the markets, cheap 
as dirt ; while the raisins into which they were converted, 
by a process that dates back to the Phoenicians, found 
their way into the far East and were famous in Pales- 
tine, Arabia, and beyond. The vineyards of the Malaga 
district, a wide tract embracing all the southern slopes 
towards the Mediterranean, were, and still are. the chief 
source of its wealth. The wine of Malaga could tempt 
even Mohammedan Moors to forget their prophet's pro- 
hibition ; it was so delicious that a dying Moor when 
commending his soul to God asked for only two bless- 
ings in Paradise, enough to drink of the wines of Malaga 
and Seville. As the " Mountains," this same wine was 
much drunk and appreciated by our forefathers. To 
this day " Malaga " is largely consumed, both dry and 
sweet, especially that known as the Lagrimas, or Tears, 
a cognate term to the famous Lachrymas Christi of 
Naples, and which are the very essence of the rich ripe 
grapes, which are hung up in the sun till the juice flows 
from them in luscious drops. Orange groves and lemon 
groves abound in the Vega, and the fruit is largely ex- 
ported. The collection and packing are done at points 
along the line of railway to which Malaga is the mari- 
time terminus, as at La Pizarra, a small but important 
station which is the starting point for the Baths of Cara- 
traca, and the mountain ride to Ronda through the mag- 



LA CONCEPCION 51 

nificent pass of El Burgo. Of late years Malaga has 
become a species of market garden, in which large quanti- 
ties of early vegetables are raised, the primeurs of French 
gourmets, the young peas, potatoes, asparagus, and lettuce, 
which are sent north to Paris during the winter months 
by express trains. This is probably a more profitable 
business than the raising of the sugar-cane, an industry 
introduced (or more exactly, revived, for it was known 
to and cultivated by the Moors) in and around Malaga 
by the well-known General Concha, Marques del Duero. 
He spent the bulk of a large fortune in developing the 
cane cultivation, and almost ruined himself in this 
patriotic endeavor. Others benefited largely by his well- 
meant enterprise, and the sugar fields of southern Spain 
prospered until the German beet sugar drove the home- 
grown hard. The climate of Malaga, with its great dry- 
ness and absolute immunity from frost, is exceedingly 
favorable to the growth of the sugar-cane, and the sugar 
fields at the time of the cutting are picturesque centers 
of activity. The best idea, however, of the amazing fer- 
tility of this gifted country will be obtained from a visit 
to one of the private residential estates, or Uncos, such 
as that of La Concepcion, where palms, bamboos, arums, 
cicads and other tropical plants thrive bravely in the 
open air. It is only a short drive, and is well worth a 
visit. The small Grecian temple is full of Roman re- 
mains, chiefly from Cartama, the site of a great Roman 
city which Livy has described. Some of these remains 
are of beautiful marble figures, which were found, like 
ordinary stones, built into a prison wall and rescued with 
some difficulty. The Malaga authorities annexed them, 
thinking they contained gold, then threw them away as 



52 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

old rubbish. Other remains at La Concepcion are frag- 
ments of the Roman municipal law, on bronze tablets, 
found at Osuna, between Antequera and Seville. 

Malaga possesses many mementoes of the Moors be- 
sides their methods of irrigation. The great citadel 
which this truly militant race erected upon the chief 
point of vantage and key to the possession of Malaga 
still remains. This, the Castle of Gibralfaro, the rock 
of the lighthouse, was built by a prince of Granada, 
Mohammed, upon the site of a Phoenician fortress, and 
it was so strongly fortified and held that it long resisted 
the strenuous efforts of Ferdinand and Isabella in the 
memorable siege which prefaced the fall of Granada. 
How disgracefully the Catholic kings ill-treated the con- 
quered Moors of Malaga, condemning them to slavery 
or the auto da fe, may be read in the pages of Prescott. 
The towers of the Gibralfaro still standing have each a 
story of its own : one was the atalaya, or watch-tower ; 
on another, that of La Vela, a great silver cross was 
erected when the city surrendered. Below the Gibralfaro, 
but connected with it and forming part of the four deep 
city walls, is the Alcazaba, another fortification utilized 
by the Moors, but the fortress they raised stands upon 
Phoenician foundations. The quarter that lies below 
these Moorish strongholds is the most ancient part of 
Malaga, a wilderness of dark, winding alleys of Oriental 
aspect, and no doubt of Moorish origin. This is the 
home of the lower classes, of the turbulent masses who 
have in all ages been a trial and trouble to the authori- 
ties of the time. The Malaguenos, the inhabitants of 
Malaga, whether Moors or Spaniards, have ever been 
rebellious subjects of their liege lords, and uncomfortable 



REBELLIOUS SUBJECTS' 53 

neighbors to one another. In all their commotions they 
have generally espoused the cause which has ultimately 
failed. 

Thus, in 1831, Riego and Torrijos having been in 
open revolt against the Government, v\^ere lured into 
embarking for Malaga from Gibraltar, where they had 
assembled, by its military commandant Moreno, and shot 
down to a man on the beach below the Carmen Convent. 
Among the victims was an Englishman, Mr. Boyd, whose 
unhappy fate led to sharp protests from England. Since 
this massacre a tardy tribute has been raised to the 
memory of the slain ; it stands in the shape of a monu- 
ment in the Plaza de Riego, the Alameda. Again, 
Malaga sided with Espartero in 1843, when he " pro- 
nounced " but had to fly into exile. Once more, in 1868, 
the Malagueiios took up arms upon the losing side, fight- 
ing for the dethroned Isabella Segunda against the suc- 
cessful soldiers who had driven her from Madrid. 
Malaga was long and obstinately defended, but eventu- 
ally succumbed after a sanguinary struggle. Last of all. 
after the abdication of Amadeus in 1873, the Republicans 
of Malaga rose, and carried their excesses so far as to 
establish a Communistic regime, which terrorized the 
town. The troops disbanded themselves, their weapons 
were seized by the worst elements of the population, who 
held the reins of power, the local authorities having 
taken to flight. The mob laid hands on the custom- 
house and all public moneys, levied contributions upon 
the more peaceable citizens, then quarreled among them- 
selves and fought out their battles in the streets, sweep- 
ing them with artillery fire, and threatening a general 
bombardment. Order was not easily restored or without 



54 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

the display of armed force, but the condign punishment 
of the more blameworthy has kept Malaga quiet ever 
since. 

While the male sex among the masses of Malaga enjoy 
an indifferent reputation, her daughters of all classes are 
famed for their attractiveness, even in Spain, the home, 
par excellence, of a well-favored race. " Muchachas 
Malaguenas, muy halagueiias " (the girls of Malaga are 
most bewitching) is a proverbial expression, the truth of 
which has been attested by many appreciative observers. 
Theophile Gautier's description of them is perhaps the 
most complimentary. The Malaguena, he tells us, is re- 
markable for the even tone of her complexion (the cheek 
having no more color than the forehead), the rich crim- 
son of her lips, the delicacy of her nostril, and above all 
the brilliancy of her Arab eyes, which might be tinged 
with henna, they are so languorous and so almond- 
shaped. " I cannot tell whether or not it was the red 
draperies of their headgear, but their faces exhibited 
gravity combined with passion that was quite Oriental 
in character." Gautier drew this picture of the Mala- 
gueiias as he saw them at a bull-fight, and he expresses 
a not unnatural surprise that sweet. Madonna-like faces, 
which might well inspire the painter of sacred subjects, 
should look on unmoved at the ghastly episodes of the 
blood-stained ring. It shocked him to see the deep in- 
terest with which these pale beauties followed the fight, 
to hear the feats of the arena discussed by sweet lips 
that might speak more suitably of softer things. Yet he 
found them simple, tender-hearted, good, and concluded 
that it was not cruelty of disposition but the custom of 
the country that drew^ them to this savage show. Since 
then the bull-fight, shorn, however, of its worst horrors, 



ALMERIA 55 

has become acclimatized and most popular amidst M. 
Gautier's own country-women in Paris. That the beauty 
of the higher ranks rivals that of the lowest may be 
inferred from the fact that a lady whose charms were 
once celebrated throughout Europe is of Malaguefian 
descent. The mother of the Empress Eugenie, who 
shared with Napoleon III. the highest honors in France, 
was a Malaga girl, a Miss Fitzpatrick, the daughter of 
the British consul, but she had also Spanish blood in 
her veins. 

A near neighbor and old rival, as richly endowed, may 
again pass Malaga in the great race for commercial ex- 
pansion. This is Almeria, which lies farther eastward 
and which owns many natural advantages; its exposed 
port has been improved by the construction of piers and 
breakwaters, and it now offers a secure haven to the 
shipping that should ere long be attracted in increasing 
tonnage to carry away the rich products of the neighbor- 
ing districts. Almeria is the capital of a province teem- 
ing with mineral wealth, and whose climate and soil 
favor the growth of the most varied and valuable crops. 
The silver mines of the mountains of Murcia and the 
fertile valleys of the Alpujarras would find their best 
outlet at Almeria, while Granada would once more serve 
as its farm. So ran the old proverb, " When Almeria 
was really Almeria, Granada was only its alqueria," or 
source of supply. What this time-honored but almost 
forgotten city most needs is to be brought into touch 
with the railway systems of Spain. Meanwhile, Almeria, 
awaiting better fortune, thrives on the exports of its own 
products, chief among which are grapes and esparto. 
The first has a familiar sound to British ears, from the 
green grapes known as " Almerias," which are largely 



56 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

consumed in British households. These are not equal to 
the delicately flavored Muscatels, but they are stronger 
and will bear the packing- and rough usages of exporta- 
tion under which the others perish. Esparto is a natural 
product of these favored lands, which, after long supply- 
ing local wants, has now become an esteemed item in 
their list of exports. It is known to botanists as the 
Spanish rush, or bass feather grass, the Genet d'Espagne, 
and is compared by Ford to the " spear grass which 
grows on the sandy sea-shores of Lancashire." It is still 
manufactured, as in the days of Pliny, into matting, 
baskets, ropes, and the soles for the celebrated Alpar- 
gatas, or rope sandal shoes, worn universally by Spanish 
peasants in the south and Spanish soldiers on the line of 
march. The ease and speed with which the Spanish in- 
fantry cover long distances are greatly attributed to their 
comfortable chaussures. Nowadays a much wider out- 
let has been found for esparto grass, and it is grown 
artificially. When rags became more and more scarce 
and unequal to the demands of the paper-makers, experi- 
ments were made with various substitutes, and none an- 
swered the purpose better than the wild spear-grass of 
southern Spain. 

Almeria, while awaiting the return of maritime pros- 
perity, can look with some complacency upon a memor- 
able if not altogether glorious past. Its very names. 
Tortus Magnus under the Romans, and Al Meriah, the 
" Conspicuous," under the Moors, attest its importance. 
All the agricultural produce of the prolific Vega, the 
silks that were woven on Moorish looms and highly 
prized through the East, were brought to Almeria for 
transmission abroad. The security and convenience of 
this famous port gave it an evil reputation in after years, 



THE ALCAZABA 57 

when it became an independent kingdom under Ibn May- 
mum. Almeria was the terror of the Mediterranean ; its 
pirate galleys roved to and fro, making descents upon 
the French and Italian coasts, and carrying back their 
booty, slaves, and prizes to their impregnable home. 
Spaniards and Genoese presently combined against the 
common enemy, and Almeria was one of the earliest 
Christian conquests regained from the Moors. Later 
still the Algerian Moors took fresh revenge, and their 
corsairs so constantly threatened Almeria that Charles V. 
repaired its ancient fortifications, the old Moorish castle 
now called the Alcazaba, the center or keep, and hung 
a great tocsin bell upon its cathedral tower to give no- 
tice of the pirates' approach. This cathedral is the most 
imposing object in the decayed and impoverished town. 
Pigs and poultry roam at large in the streets, amidst dirt 
and refuse ; but in the strong sunlight, white and blind- 
ing as in Africa, the mean houses glisten brightly, and 
the abundant color seen on awnings and lattice, upon the 
women's skirts and kerchiefs, in the ultramarine sea, is 
brought out in the most vivid and beautiful relief. 

The scenery on the coast from Malaga ea.stward is fine, 
in some parts and under certain aspects magnificent. 
Beyond Almeria is the famous Cape de Gatt, as it is 
known to our mariners, the Cabo de Gata of local par- 
lance, the Agate Cape, to give it its precise meaning. 
This remarkable promontory, composed of rocks en- 
crusted with gems, is worthy a place in the " Arabian 
Nights." There are miles and miles of agates and crys- 
tal spar, and in one particular spot amethysts are found. 
Wild winds gather and constantly bluster about this richly 
constituted but often storm-tossed landmark. Old sailor 
saws have perpetuated its character in the form of a 



58 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

proverb, " At the Cape de Gatt take care of your hat." 
Other portions of the coast nearer Malaga are still more 
forbidding and dangerous : under the Sierra Tejada, for 
example, where the rocky barriers which guard the land 
rise tier above tier as straight as a wall, in which there 
are no openings, no havens of safety for passing craft in 
an inshore gale. Behind all, a dim outline joining hands 
as it were with the clouds, towers the great snowy range 
of southern Spain, the Sierra Nevada, rejoicing in an 
elevation as high as the Swiss Alps, and in some respects 
far more beautiful. 

There are, however, no such grim glaciers, no such 
vast snow-fields as in Switzerland, for here in the south 
the sun has more power, and even at these heights only 
the peaks and pinnacles wear white crests during the 
summer heats. This more genial temperature encour- 
ages a richer vegetation, and makes the ascents less per- 
ilous and toilsome. A member of the Alpine Club would 
laugh to scorn the conquest of Muley Hacen, or of the 
Picacho de la Veleta, the two crowning peaks of the 
range. The enterprise is within the compass of the most 
moderate effort. The ascent of the last-named and low- 
est, although the most picturesque, is the easiest made, 
because the road from Granada is most direct. In both 
cases the greatest part of the climbing is performed on 
horseback ; but this must be done a day in advance, and 
thus a night has to be passed near the summit under the 
stars. The temperature is low, and the travellers can 
only defend themselves against the cold by the wraps 
they have brought and the fuel they can find (mere 
knotted roots) around their windy shelter. The ascent 
to where the snow still lingers, in very dirty and dis- 
reputable patches, is usually commenced about two in the 



THE SIERRA NEVADA 59 

morning-, so that the top may be reached before dawn. 
If the sky is clear, sunrise from the Picacho is a scene 
that can never be forgotten, fairly competing with, if not 
outrivaling, the most famous views of the kind. The 
Mediterranean lies below like a lake, bounded to the 
north and west by the Spanish coast, to the south by the 
African, the faintest outlines of which may often be seen 
in the far, dim distance. Eastward the horizon is made 
glorious by the bright pageants of the rising sun, whose 
majestic approach is heralded by rainbow-hued clouds. 
All around are the strangely jagged and contorted peaks, 
rolling down in diminishing grandeur to the lower peaks 
that seem to rise from the sea. 

The highest peak of the Sierra Nevada is Muley 
Hacen, although it has only the advantage over the 
Picacho de la Veleta by about a couple of hundred feet. 
It is a longer and more difficult ascent, but in some ways 
the most interesting, as it can best be reached through the 
Alpuj arras, those romantic and secluded valleys which 
are full of picturesque scenery and of historical associa- 
tions. The starting point, as a general rule, is Trevelez, 
although the ascent may be equally made from Portugos, 
somewhat nearer Granada. Trevelez is the other side 
and the most convenient coming from Malaga by way 
of Motril. But no one would take the latter route who 
could travel by the former, which leads through Alhen- 
din, that well-known village which is said to have seen 
the last of the departing Moors. This is the point at 
which Granada is finally lost to view, and it was here 
that Boabdil, the last king of Granada, took his last 
farewell of the city whose loss he wept over, under the 
scathing sarcasm of his more heroic mother, who told 
him he might well " weep like a woman for what he 



6o THE MEDITERRANEAN 

could not defend as a man." Near this village is the 
little hill still known as the site of " El Ultimo Suspiro 
del Moro, the last sigh of the Moor." This same road 
leads through Lanjaron, an enchanting spot, posted high 
upon a spur of the hills, and famous as a bathing place 
with health-giving mineral springs. From Portugos or 
Trevelez the climb is easy enough: to be accomplished a 
great part of the way on horseback, and in its earlier 
levels ascending amid forests of evergreen oak; after 
that, long wastes of barren rock are passed, till at length 
the summit is reached, on a narrow strip of table-land, 
the highest in Southern Europe, and with an unrivaled 
view. The charm of the Muley Hacen peak is its isola- 
tion, while the Picacho looks better from it than Muley 
Hacen does from the Picacho. and there is a longer vista 
across the Mediterranean Sea. 



IV 

BARCELONA 

The flower market of the Rambla — Streets of the old town — The 
Cathedral of Barcelona — Description of the Columbus monu- 
ment — All Saints' Day in Spain— Mont Tibidaho— Diverse 
centers of intellectual activity — Ancient history— Philanthropic 
and charitable institutions. 

<4"|^ARCELONA, shrine of courtesy, harbor of the 
wayfarer, shelter of the poor, cradle of the 
brave, champion of the outraged, nurse of 
friendship, unique in position, unique in beauty ! " 

Such was the eulogium bestowed upon Barcelona by 
the great Cervantes several hundred years ago, an eulo- 
gium warranted by a stranger's experience in our own 
day. The matchless site of the second city of Spain, its 
luxuriant surroundings, awaken enthusiasm as of old, 
whilst even the briefest possible sojourn suffices to make 
us feel at home. A winning urbanity, a cosmopolitan ami- 
ableness, characterize the townsfolk, Spanish hauteur is 
here replaced by French cordiality. Softness of manner 
and graces of speech lend additional charm to a race con- 
spicuous for personal beauty. The Barcelonese are de- 
scribed by a contemporary as laborious and energetic, 
ambitious of social advance, tenacious of personal dignity, 
highly imaginative, at the same time eminently practical, 
steadfast in friendship, vehement in hate. The stir and 

6i 



62 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

magnificence of the city attest the progressive character 
of the inhabitants. 

Few European capitals can boast of finer public monu- 
ments, few indeed possess such a promenade as its famous 
Rambla. The Rambla may be regarded as an epitome, 
not only of the entire city, but of all Spain, and here the 
curious traveller should take up his quarters. A dozen 
brilliant or moving spectacles meet the eye in a day, 
whilst the normal aspect is one of unimaginable pictur- 
esqueness and variety. The dark-eyed flower-girls with 
their rich floral displays; the country folks still adhering 
to the costume of Catalonia — the men sandaled and 
white-hosed, for headgear, slouch caps of crimson, scarlet, 
or peach- colored felt, the women with gorgeous silk ker- 
chiefs pinned under the chin — the Asturian nursemaids 
in poppy-red skirts barred with black, and dainty gold 
and lace caps ; the ladies fanning themselves as they go in 
November, with black lace mantillas over their pretty 
heads ; the Guardia Civile in big, awe-inspiring cocked 
hats and long black cloaks reaching to the ankle; the 
trim soldiery in black and red tunics, knickerbockers and 
buskins, their officers ablaze with gold braid and lace; 
the spick-and-span city police, each neat as a dandy in a 
melodrama, not a hair out of place, collars and cuffs of 
spotless white, ironed to perfection, well-fitting costumes, 
swords at their sides ; the priests and nuns ; the seafaring 
folk of many nationalities ; the shepherds of uncouth ap- 
pearance from the neighboring mountains — all these at 
first make us feel as if we were taking part in a mas- 
querade. 

Now way is made for the funeral train of some rich 
citizen, the lofty car of sumptuous display of black and 
gold drapery, wreaths of fresh roses, violet, and helio- 



THE FLOWER MARKET 63 

trope, large as carriage-wheels, fastened to the sides, the 
coffin, encased in black and violet velvet, studded with 
gold nails ; following slowly, a long procession of car- 
riages bearing priests, choristers, and mourners. And now 
the sounds of martial music summon the newcomer a sec- 
ond time to his window. It is a soldier who is borne to 
his rest. Six comrades accompany the bier, carrying long 
inverted tapers ; behind march commanding officers and 
men, the band playing strains all too spirited it seems for 
such an occasion. There is always something going on 
in this splendid avenue animated from early morning till 
past midnight, market-place, parade ground, promenade in 
one. 

The daily flower-market of itself would almost repay 
the journey from London. When northern skies are 
gloomiest, and fogs are daily fare, the Rambla is at its 
best. The yellowing leaves of the plane-trees look golden 
under the dazzling blue sky, and brilliant as in a picture 
are the flower-sellers and their wares. These distract- 
ingly pretty girls, with their dark locks pulled over the 
brow, their lovely eyes, rich olive complexions, and gleam- 
ing white teeth, have nothing of the mendicant about 
them. As they offer their flowers — perhaps fastening 
roses to a half-finished garland with one hand, whilst with 
the other a pot of heliotrope is reached down — the passer- 
by is engagingly invited to purchase. The Spanish lan- 
guage, even the dialect of Catalonia, is music to begin 
with, and the flower-maidens make it more musical still 
by their gentle, caressing ways. Some wear little mantil- 
las of black, blonde, or cashmere; others, silk kerchiefs 
of brightest hue — orange, crimson, deep purple, or fan- 
ciful patterns of many colors. Barcelona is a flower-gar- 
den all the year round, and in mid-winter we stroll be- 



64 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

tweeii piled-up masses of rose, carnation, and violet, to 
say nothing of dahlias and chrysanthemums. 

It is especially on All Saints' and All Souls' Days that 
the flower-market of the Rambla is seen to advantage ; 
enormous sums are spent upon wreaths and garlands for 
the cemetery, the poorest then contriving to pay his floral 
tribute to departed kith and kin. 

In striking contrast with the wide, airy, ever brilliantly 
illuminated Rambla, electric light doing duty for sunshine 
at night, are the streets of the old town. The stranger 
may take any turning — either to right or left — he is sure 
to find himself in one of these dusky narrow thorough- 
fares, so small ofttimes the space between window and 
opposite window that neighbors might almost shake 
hands. With their open shops of gay woolen stuffs, they 
vividly recall Cairene bazaars. Narrow as is the accom- 
modation without, it must be narrower still within, since 
when folks move from one house to another their goods 
and chattels are hoisted up and passed through the front 
windows. The sight of a chest of drawers or a sofa in 
cloudland is comical enough, although the system certainly 
has its advantages. Much manual labor is thereby spared, 
and the furniture doubtless escapes injury from knocking 
about. 

The wise traveller will elect to live on the Rambla, but 
to spend his time in the old town. Wherever he goes he 
is sure to come upon some piece of antiquity, whilst here, 
in a great measure, he loses sight of the cosmopolitan ele- 
ment characterizing the new quarters. Novel and strik- 
ing as is its aspect to the stranger, Barcelona must never- 
theless be described as the least Spanish of Spanish towns. 
The second seaport of Spain is still — as it was in the 
Middle Ages — one of the most important seats of inter- 



THE CATHEDRAL 65 

national commerce on the Mediterranean. As we elbow 
our way along the crowded Rambla we encounter a diver- 
sity of types and hear a perplexing jargon of many 
tongues. A few minutes suffice to transport us into the 
old-world city familiar to Ford — not, however, to be de- 
scribed by the twentieth century tourist in Ford's own 
words. " A difficult language," he wrote just upon half 
a century ago, " rude manners, and a distrust of stran- 
gers, render Barcelona a disagreeable city." Nowhere 
nowadays is more courtesy shown to the inquiring 
stranger. He is not even obliged to ask his way in these 
narrow tortuous streets. The city police, to be found at 
every turn, uninvited come to his aid, and, bringing out a 
pocket-map, with an infinity of pains make clear to him 
the route he has to take. The handsome Calle San Fer- 
nando leads to the somber but grandiose old Cathedral 
with its lovely cloisters, magnificent towers and bells, 
deep-voiced as that of Big Ben itself. All churches in 
Spain, by the way, must be visited in the forenoon ; even 
then the light is so dim that little can be seen of their 
treasures — pictures, reliquaries, marble tombs. The Ca- 
thedral of Barcelona forms no exception to the rule. 
Only lighted by windows of richly stained old glass, 
we are literally compelled to grope our way along the 
crowded aisles. Mass is going on from early morning 
till noon, and in the glimmering jeweled light we can 
just discern the moving figures of priests and acolytes 
before the high altar, and the scattered worshippers kneel- 
ing on the floor. Equally vague are the glimpses we 
obtain of the chapels, veritable little museums of rare and 
beautiful things unfortunately consigned to perpetual 
obscurity, veiled in never-fading twilight. What a change 
we find outside ! The elegant Gothic cloisters, rather 



66 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

to be described as a series of chapels, each differing from 
the other, each sumptuously adorned, enclose a sunny 
open space or patio, planted with palms, orange and lemon 
trees, the dazzlingly bright foliage and warm blue sky 
in striking contrast to the somber gray of the building- 
stone. A little farther off, on the other side, we may see 
the figures of the bell-ringers high up in the open belfry 
tower, swinging the huge bells backwards and forwards 
with tremendous effort, a sight never to be missed on 
Sundays and fete days. 

This stately old Cathedral, like so many others, was 
never finished and works of reparation and restoration 
are perpetually going on. Close by stands the Palais de 
Justice, with its beautiful Gothic court and carved stone 
staircase, the balustrade supported by lovely little statu- 
ettes or gargoyles, each an artistic study in itself. Abut- 
ting this is the Palais de Diputacion, Provincial or local 
Parliament House, a building of truly Spanish grandeur. 
Its wide marble staircases, its elaborate ceilings of carved 
wood, its majestic proportions, will, perhaps, have less in- 
terest for some travellers than its art-treasures, two chefs 
d'cEuvre of the gifted Fortuny. Barcelona was the patron 
of this true genius — Catalan by birth — so unhappily cut 
off in his early prime. With no little pride the stately 
officials show these canvases — the famous " Odalisque " 
and the "Battle of Tetuan " — the latter, alas! left un- 
finished. It is a superb piece of life and color, but must 
be seen on a brilliant day as the hall is somber. Nothing 
can exceed the courtesy of the Barcelonese to strangers, 
and these pictures are shown out of the regular hours. 
But let no one incautiously offer a fee. The proffered 
coin will be politely, even smilingly, rejected, without hu- 
miliating reproof, much less a look of affront. Ford's 



ARCHIVES OF BARCELONA dj 

remark that " a silver key at all times secures admis- 
sion " does not hold good in these days. 

Near the Cathedral, law courts, and Provincial Parlia- 
ment House stands another picturesque old palace of 
comparatively modern date, yet Saracenic aspect, and 
containing one of the most curious historic treasures in 
Europe. This is the palace of the kings of Aragon, or 
Archive General de la Corona de Aragon. The exterior, 
as is usual with Spanish buildings, is massive and gloomy. 
Inside is a look of Oriental lightness and gaiety. Slen- 
der columns, painted red, enclose an open court, and sup- 
port a little terrace planted with shrubs and flowers. 
Here in perfect order and preservation, without a break, 
are stored the records of upwards of a thousand years, 
the earlier consisting of vellum scrolls and black letter, 
the latter showing the progress of printing from its be- 
ginning down to our own day. The first parchment bears 
date A. D. 875. Among the curiosities of the collection 
are no less than eight hundred and two Papal Bulls from 
the year 1017 to 1796. Besides the archives of Barcelona 
itself, and of the kingdom of Aragon, to which it was 
annexed in the twelfth century, the palace contains many 
deeply interesting manuscripts found in the suppressed 
monasteries. 

The archives have been ingeniously arranged by the 
learned keeper of records. The bookcases, which are 
not more than six feet high, stand on either side of the 
vast library, at some distance from the wall, made stair- 
case-wise; one set of volumes just above the other, with 
the result that no accumulation of dust is possible, and 
that each set is equally accessible. The effect on the 
eye of these symmetrically-placed volumes in white vel- 
lum is very novel and pleasing. We seem to be in a 



68 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

hall, the walls of which are of fluted cream-colored 
marble. 

The little museum of local antiquities in the ruined 
Church of Santa Agneda, the somber old churches of San 
Pablo del Campo, Santa Maria del Mar and Belen, the 
fragments of mediceval domestic architecture remaining 
here and there — all these will detain the arcli?eologist. Of 
more general interest are the modern monuments of 
Barcelona. In no city have civic lavishness and public 
spirit shone forth more conspicuously. 

A penny tramway — you may go anywhere here for a 
penny — takes you to the beautiful Park and Fountain 
of Neptune. The word " fountain " gives an inadequate 
notion of the splendid pile, with its vast triple-storied 
marble galleries, its sculptured Naiads and dolphijis, and 
on the summit, towering above park and lake and cas- 
cades, its three gigantic sea-horses and charioteers richly 
gilt, gleaming as if indeed of massive gold. Is there 
any more sumptuous fountain in the world? I doubt 
it. In spite of the gilded sea-horses and chariot, there is 
no tawdriness here ; all is bold, splendid, and imposing. 
Below the vast terraced galleries and wide staircases, all 
of pure marble, flows in a broad sheet the crystal-clear 
water, home of myriads of gold fish. The entourage is 
worthy of so superb a construction. The fountain stands 
in the midst of a scrupulously-kept, tastefully laid-out, 
ever-verdant park or public pleasure-ground. In No- 
vember all is fresh and blooming as in an English June. 
Palms, magnolias, bananas, oleanders, camellias, the 
pepper-tree, make up a rich, many-tinted foliage. 
Flowers in winter-time are supplanted by beds of bril- 
liant leaved plants that do duty for blossoms. The pur- 
ple, crimson, and sea-green leaves are arranged with 



COLUMBUS MONUMENT 69 

great effect, and have a brilliant appearance. Here sur- 
rounded by gold green turf, are little lakes which may 
be sailed across in tiny pleasure skiffs. At the chief 
entrance, conspicuously placed, stands the fine equestrian 
monument to Prim, inaugurated with much civil and mili- 
tary pomp some years ago. It is a bold statue in red 
bronze. The general sits his horse, hat in hand, his fine, 
soldier-like face turned towards the city. On the sides of 
the pedestal are bas-reliefs recording episodes of his ca- 
reer, and on the front these words only, " Barcelona a 
Prim." The work is that of a Spanish artist, and the 
monument as a whole reflects great credit alike to local 
art and public spirit. 

But a few minutes' drive brings us within sight of a 
monument to one of the world's heroes. I allude to the 
memorial column recently raised to Columbus by this 
same public-spirited and munificent city of Barcelona. 
Columbus, be it remembered, was received here by Ferdi- 
nand and Isabella after his discovery of America in 1493. 
Far and wide over hills and city, palm-girt harbor, and 
sea, as a lighthouse towers the tremendous obelisk, the 
figure of the great Genoese surmounting it, his feet 
placed on a golden sphere, his outstretched arm pointing 
triumphantly in the direction of his newly-discovered 
continent as much as to say, " It is there ! " 

Never did undertaking reflect more credit upon a city 
than this stupendous work. The entire height of the 
monument is about two-thirds of the height of the Monu- 
ment of London. The execution was entrusted to Barce- 
lonese craftsmen and artists; the materials— bronze, 
stone, and marble— all being supplied in the neighbor- 
hood. 

On the upper tier of the pedestal are statues of the 



70 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

four noble Catalans who materially aided Columbus in 
his expedition — by name Fray Boyl, monk of Montserrat, 
Pedro Margarit, Jaime Ferrer, and Luis Sentangel. Be- 
low are allegorical figures representing, in the form of 
stately matrons, the four kingdoms of Catalonia, Castille, 
Aragon, and Leon. Bas-reliefs, illustrating scenes in the 
career of the discoverer, adorn the hexagonal sides, six 
magnificent winged lions of grey stone keep jealous watch 
over the whole, and below these, softening the aspect of 
severity, is a belt of turf, the following inscription being 
perpetually written in flowers : " Barcelona a Colon." 
The column is surmounted by a globe burnished with 
gold, and above rises the colossal figure of Columbus. 

No happier site could have been selected. The monu- 
ment faces the sea, and is approached from the town 
by a palm-bordered walk and public garden. The first 
object to greet the mariner's eye as he sights land is the 
figure of Columbus poised on his glittering ball ; the 
last to fade from view is that beacon-like column tower- 
ing so proudly above city and shore. A little excursion 
must be made by boat or steamer, in order to realize the 
striking efl^ect of this monument from the sea. 

To obtain a bird's-eye view of Barcelona itself, the 
stranger should go some distance inland. The Fort of 
Montjuich, commanding the town from the south, or 
Mont Tibidaho to the north, will equally answer his pur- 
pose. A pretty winding path leads from the shore to a 
pleasure-garden just below the fort, and here we see 
the entire city spread as in a map at our feet. The pano- 
rama is somewhat monotonous, the vast congeries of 
white walls and grey roofs only broken by gloomy old 
church towers and tall factory chimneys, but thus is 
realized for the first time the enormous extent of the 



THE NEW CEMETERY 71 

Spanish Liverpool and Manchester in one. Thus, indeed, 
may Barcelona be styled. Looking seaward, the picture is 
animated and engaging — the wide harbor bristling with 
shipping, lateen-sailed fishing boats skimming the deep- 
blue sunny waves, noble vessels just discernible on the 
dim horizon. 

The once celebrated promenade of the Murallo del 
Mar, eulogized by Ford and other writers, no longer 
exists, but the stranger will keep the sea-line in search 
of the new cemetery. A very bad road leads thither, on 
All Saints' and All Souls' days followed by an unbroken 
string of vehicles, omnibuses, covered carts, hackney car- 
riages, and private broughams ; their occupants, for the 
most part, dressed in black. The women, wearing black 
Cashmere mantillas, are hardly visible, being hidden by 
enormous wreaths, crosses, and bouquets of natural and 
also of artificial flowers. The new cemetery is well 
placed, being several miles from the city, on high ground 
between the open country and the sea. It is tastefully 
laid out in terraces — the trees and shrubs testifying to the 
care bestowed on them. Here are many costly monu- 
ments — mausoleums, we should rather say — of opulent 
Barcelonese, each family possessing its tiny chapel and 
burial-place. 

It is to be hoped that so progressive a city as Bar- 
celona will ere long adopt the system of cremation. Noth- 
ing can be less hygienic, one would think, than the pres- 
ent mode of burial in Spain. To die there is literally — - 
not figuratively — to be laid on the shelf. The terrace- 
like sides of the cemetery ground have been hollowed 
out into pigeon-holes, and into these are thrust the coffins, 
the marble slab closing the aperture bearing a memorial 
inscription. Ivy and other creepers are trained around 



'J2 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

the various divisions, and wreaths of fresh flowers and 
immortelles adorn them; the whole presenting the ap- 
pearance of a huge chest of drawers divided into mathe- 
matically exact segments. To us there is something un- 
canny — nay, revolting — in such a form of burial ; which, 
to say the least of it, cannot be warranted on sesthetic, 
much less scientific, principles. It is satisfactory to find 
that at last Protestants and Jews have their own burial- 
place here, shut off from the rest, it is true by a wall 
at least twenty feet high, but a resting-place for all that. 
It was not so very long ago that Malaga was the only 
Spanish town according Protestants this . privilege, the 
concession being wrung from the authorities by the late 
much-esteemed British consul, Mr. Mark. 

For some days preceding the festival of All Saints the 
cemetery presents a busy scene. Charwomen, garden- 
ers, masons, and painters then take possession of the 
place. Marble is scoured, lettering is repainted, shrubs 
clipped, turf cut — all is made spick and span, in time for 
the great festival of the dead. It must be borne in mind 
that All Saints' Day in Spain has no analogy with the 
same date in our own calendar. Brilliant sunshine, air 
soft and balmy as of July, characterize the month of No- 
vember here. These visits to the cemetery are, there- 
fore, less depressing than they would be performed amid 
English fog and drizzle. We Northerners, moreover, 
cannot cast off gloomy thoughts and sad retrospection 
as easily as the more elastic, more joyous Southern tem- 
perament. Mass over, the pilgrimage to the cemetery 
paid, all is relaxation and gaiety. All Saints' and All 
Souls' days are indeed periods of unmitigated enjoyment 
and relaxation. Public offices, museums, schools, shops, 



RELIGIOUS HOLIDAYS 73 

are closed. Holiday folk pour in from the country. The 
city is as animated as Paris on the 14th of July. 

In the forenoon it is difficult to elbow one's way 
through the crowded thoroughfares. Every street is 
thronged, men flocking to mass as zealously as devotees 
of the other sex. In these early hours most of the ladies 
wear black; their mourning garb later in the day to be 
exchanged for fashionable toilettes of all colors. The 
children are decked out gaily, as for a fancy fair. Serv- 
ice is being held in every church, and from all parts may 
be heard the sonorous Cathedral bells. Its vast, somber 
interior, now blazing with wax-lights, is a sight to re- 
member. Crowds in rapt devotion are kneeling on the 
bare stones, the ladies heedless of their silks; here and 
there the men kneeling on a glove or pocket-handker- 
chief, in order to protect their Sunday pantaloons. Rows 
of poor men — beggars, it would seem, tidied up for the 
occasion — sit in rows along the aisle, holding lighted 
tapers. The choir is filled with choristers, men and boys 
intoning the service so skilfully that they almost seem to 
sing. Soon the crowds fall back, and a procession passes 
from choir to high altar — priests and dignitaries in their 
gorgeous robes, some of black, embroidered with crosses 
in gold, others of white and purple or yellow, the bishop 
coming last, his long violet train borne by a priest; all 
the time the well-trained voices of the choristers — sweet 
treble of the boys, tenor, and base — making up for lack 
of music. At last the long ceremony comes to an end, and 
the vast congregation pours out to enjoy the balmy air, 
the warm sunshine, visits, confectionery, and other dis- 
tractions. 

Such religious holidays should not be missed by the 



74 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

traveller, since they still stamp Spain as the most Catholic 
country in the world. Even in bustling, cosmopolitan, 
progressive Barcelona people seem to spend half their 
time in church. 

In the capital of Catalonia, twentieth-century civiliza- 
tion and the mediaeval spirit may still be called next-door 
neighbors. The airy boulevards and handsome villas of 
suburban Algiers are not more strikingly contrasted with 
the ancient Moorish streets than the new quarters of 
Barcelona with the old. The Rambla, its electric lights, 
its glittering shops, cafes, clubs, and theaters, recalls a 
Parisian boulevard. In many of the tortuous, malodorous 
streets of the old town there is hardly room for a wheel- 
barrow to be drawn along; no sunbeam has ever pene- 
trated the gloom. 

Let us take a penny tramway from the Rambla to the 
gloomy, grandiose old church of Santa Maria del Mar. 
Between the city and the sea rises the majestic monu- 
ment to Columbus, conspicuous as a lighthouse alike from 
land and sea. We follow a broad palm-bordered alley and 
pleasure garden beyond which are seen the noble harbor 
bristling with masts and the soft blue Mediterranean. 
Under the palms lounge idle crowds listening to a band, 
shading themselves as best they can from the burning 
sun of November! What a change when we leave the 
tramway and the airy, handsome precincts of the park, 
and plunge into the dark, narrow, street behind the Lonja 
Palace. The somber picture is not without relief. 
Round about the ancient fagade of the church are cloth- 
shops, the gay wares hanging from each story, as if the 
shopmen made a display of all their wares. Here were 
reds, yellows, greens of brightest hue, some of these 
woolen blankets, shawls, and garments of every de- 



SANTA MARIA DEL MAR 75 

scription being gay to crudeness ; grass green, scarlet, 
orange, sky-blue, dazzled the eye, but the general 
effect was picturesque and cheerful. The dingy 
little square looked ready for a festival. In reality, 
a funeral service was taking place in the church. If 
Spanish interiors are always dark and depressing, what 
must they be when draped with black? No sooner does 
the door swing behind us here than daylight is shut out 
completely as on entering a mine; we are obliged to 
grope our way by the feeble rays of light penetrating the 
old stained glass of the clerestory. The lovely lancets 
of the aisles are hidden by huge black banners, the vast 
building being only lighted by a blaze of wax tapers here 
and there. Sweet soft chanting of boys' voices, with a de- 
licious organ accompaniment, was going on when I en- 
tered, soon to be exchanged for the unutterably monoto- 
nous and lugubrious intoning of black-robed choristers. 
They formed a procession and, chanting as they went, 
marched to a side altar before which a priest was per- 
forming mass. The Host elevated, all marched back 
again, the dreary intoning now beginning afresh. It is 
impossible to convey any adequate notion of the dreari- 
ness of the service. If the Spaniards understand how to 
enjoy to the uttermost what Browning calls " the wild 
joy of living," they also know how to clothe death with 
all the terrors of mediaeval superstition. It takes one's 
breath away, too, to calculate the cost of a funeral here, 
what with the priests accomplished in the mystic dance — 
so does a Spanish writer designate the performance — • 
the no less elaborate services of the choristers, the light- 
ing up of the church, the display of funeral drapery. The 
expense, fortunately, can only be incurred once. These 
ancient churches— all somberness and gloom, yet on fete 



ye THE MEDITERRANEAN 

days ablaze with light and colors — symbolize the leading 
characteristics of Spanish character. No sooner does the 
devotee rise from his knees than the Southern passion for 
joy and animation asserts itself. Religious exercise and 
revel, penitence and enjoyment, alternate one with the 
other; the more devout the first, all the more eagerly 
indulged in the last. 

On the Sunday morning following the Festival of All 
Saints — the 4th of November — the splendid old cathedral 
was the scene of a veritable pageant. Wax lights illumi- 
nated the vast interior from end to end, the brocades and 
satins of priestly robes blazed with gold embroidery, the 
rich adornments and treasure of altar and chapels could 
be seen in full splendor. Before the grand music of the 
organ and the elevation, a long, very long, sermon had to 
be listened to, the enormous congregation for the most 
part standing; scattered groups here and there squatted 
on the stone piers, not a chair to be had anywhere, no one 
seeming to find the discourse too long. When at last the 
preacher did conclude, the white-robed choristers, men 
and boys, passed out of the choir, and formed a double 
line. Then the bishop in solemn state descended from the 
high altar. He wore a crimson gown with long train 
borne by a priest, and on his head a violet cap, with pea- 
green tuft. The dresses of the attendant clergy were no 
less gorgeous and rich in texture, some of crimson with 
heavy gold trimmings, others of mauve, guinea-gold, 
peach color, or creamy white, several wearing fur caps. 
The procession made the round of the choir, then returned 
to the starting-point. As I sat behind the high altar on 
one of the high-backed wooden benches destined for the 
aged poor, two tiny chorister boys came up, both in 
white surplices, one with a pink, the other with sky-blue 



GRACIA 77 

collar. Here they chatted and laughed with their hands 
on the bell-rope, ready to signal the elevation. On a 
sudden the tittering ceased, the childish hands tugged ai 
the rope, the tinkling of the bell was heard, and the mul- 
titude, as one man, fell on its knees, the organ meantime 
being played divinely. Service over, the crowds emerged 
into the dazzling sunshine: pleasure parties, steamboat 
trips, visits, theaters, bull-fights occupied the rest of the 
day, the Rambla presenting the appearance of a mas- 
querade. 

An excursion northwards of the city is necessary, in 
order to see its charming, fast-increasing suburbs. Many, 
as is the case with those of Paris, Passy, Auteuil, Belle- 
ville, and others, were formerly little towns, but are fast 
becoming part of Barcelona itself. 

Most musically named is Gracia, approached by rail or 
tramway, where rich citizens have their orange and 
lemon gardens, their chateaux and villas, and where re- 
ligious houses abound. In this delightful suburban re- 
treat alone no less than six nunneries may be counted ; 
somber prison-like buildings, with tiny barred windows, 
indicating the abode of cloistered nuns of ascetic orders. 
That of the Order of St. Domingo has been recently 
founded. The house looks precisely like a prison. Here 
also are several congregations of the other sex — the 
Missionaries of the Sacred Heart, the Fathers of San 
Filipe, and others. 

Gracia may be called the Hampstead of Barcelona. 
Hardly a house but possesses its garden. Above the 
high walls trail gorgeous creepers and datura, whilst 
through the iron gates we obtain glimpses of dahlias in 
full splendor, roses red and white, and above these the 
glossy-leaved orange and lemon trees with their ripening 



78 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

fruit. The pleasantest suburb of Barcelona is well 
worthy of its name. As Sarria is approached, the scenery 
becomes more rural, and under the brilliant November 
sunshine reminds the traveller of the East, the square, 
white, low-roofed houses rising- amid olive and palm 
trees. The aloes and prickly pears on the waste ground 
again and again recall Algeria. Here are vast stretches 
of vegetable gardens and vineyards supplying the city 
markets, and standing in their own grounds on sunny 
hill-sides, the quintas or country houses of rich citizens 
and grandees. 

From the little town of Sarria — hardly as yet to be 
called suburban — a glorious view is obtained of city, 
port, and sea. The narrow dusty streets, with their close- 
shuttered houses, have a sleepy look; yet Sarria pos- 
sesses one of the largest cotton-mills in Spain, several 
thousand hands being employed by one firm. The branch 
railway ends at Sarria. Here tourists and holiday-mak- 
ers alight; the hardy pedestrian to reach the summit of 
Mont Tibidaho on foot — a matter of two hours or so — 
the less enterprising, to accept one of the covered cars 
awaiting excursionists outside the station. Mont Tibi- 
daho is the favorite holiday ground of the citizens. Even 
in November numerous pleasure parties are sure to be 
found here, and the large restaurants indicate the extent 
of summer patronage. On the breezy heights round 
about are the sumptuous mansions of nobles and mer- 
chant princes ; whilst down below are numerous pic- 
turesque valleys, notably that of San Cugat. The 
stranger fortunate enough to obtain admission will find 
himself in the kind of fairyland described by Tennyson 
in his " Haroun-al-Raschid," Owen Meredith in " The 
Siege of Constantinople," or Gayangos in his delightful 



BARCELONETA 79 

translation of the " Chronicles of Al-Makkari." Marble 
courts, crystal fountains, magnificent baths, mosaic pave- 
ments, statuary, tapestries, aviaries, rare exotics, gold and 
silver plate, are now combined with all modern appliances 
of comfort. A sojourn in one of the well-appointed hotels 
will suffice to give some notion of Spanish society. Dur- 
ing the holidays many families from the city take up 
their quarters here. Social gatherings, picnics, excur- 
sions, concerts, are the order of the day, and good mili- 
tary bands enliven the gardens on Sundays. 

To the south-east of Barcelona lies the suburb of Bar- 
celoneta, frequented by the seafaring population. Penny 
boats ply between city and suburb, on Sundays and 
holidays the music of a barrel-organ being thrown into 
the bargain. The harbor is then black with spectators, 
and the boats and little steamers, making the cruise of the 
port for half a franc, are crowded with holiday-makers. 
The bright silk head-dresses of the women, the men's 
crimson or scarlet sombreros and plaids, the uniforms of 
the soldiers, the gay dresses of the ladies, make up a 
picturesque scene. On board the boats the music of the 
barrel-organ must on no account be paid for. A well- 
intentioned stranger who should offer the musician a 
penny is given to understand that the treat is gratuitous 
and generously supplied by the owners of the craft. 
Greed being almost universal in those parts of the world 
frequented by tourists, it is gratifying to be able to 
chronicle such exceptions. Seldom, indeed, has the sight- 
seer at Barcelona to put his hand in his pocket. 

If inferior to other Spanish cities in picturesqueness 
and interest generall}^, the capital of Catalonia atones for 
the deficit by its abundance of resources. It possesses 
nothing to be called a picture-gallery; the museums are 



8o THE MEDITERRANEAN 

second-rate, the collections of antiquities inconsiderable. 
But what other city in Spain can boast of so many 
learned bodies and diverse centers of intellectual activity ? 
Excessive devotion and scientific inquiry do not here 
seem at variance. Strange to say, a population that 
seems perpetually on its knees is the first to welcome 
modern ideas. 

The Academy of Arts was founded in 1751, and owes 
its origin to the Junta, or Tribunal of Commerce of Cata- 
lonia. This art school is splendidly lodged in the Lonja 
Palace, and attached to it is a museum, containing a few 
curious specimens of old Spanish masters, some rather 
poor copies of the Italian schools, and one real artistic 
treasure of the first water. This is a collection of studies 
in black and white by the gifted Fortuny, whose first 
training was received here. The sketches are masterly, 
and atone for the insignificance of the remaining collec- 
tion. Students of both sexes are admitted to the classes, 
the course of study embracing painting in all its branches, 
modeling, etching, linear drawing and perspective, anat- 
omy and aesthetics. It is gratifying to find that girls 
attend these classes, although as yet in small numbers. 

The movement in favor of the higher education of 
women marches at a snail's pace in Spain. The vast 
number of convents and what are called " Escuelas 
Pias," or religious schools, attest the fact that even in 
the most cosmopolitan and enlightened Spanish town the 
education of girls still remains chiefly in the hands of the 
nuns. Lay schools and colleges exist, also a normal 
school for the training of female teachers, founded a few 
years ago. Here and there we find rich families en- 
trusting their girls to English governesses, but such cases 
are rare. 



ESCUELAS PIAS 8i 

We must remember, however, that besides the numer- 
ous " Escuelas pias " and secular schools, several exist 
opened under the auspices of the Spanish Evangelical 
body, and also the League for the Promotion of lay 
Teaching. We need not infer, then, that because they 
do not attend the municipal schools the children go un- 
taught. 

How reluctantly Catholic countries are won over to 
educate their women we have witnessed in France. Here 
in the twentieth century the chief occupation of an edu- 
cated Spanish lady seems to be that of counting her beads 
in church. 

Music is universally taught, the cultivation of the 
piano being nowhere more assiduous. Pianoforte teach- 
ers may be counted by the hundred; and a Conserva- 
torium, besides academies due to private initiative, offers 
a thorough musical training to the student. Elegant 
pianos, characterized by great delicacy of tone and low 
price, are a leading feature of Barcelona manufacture, 
notably of the firm Bernareggi. 

The University, attended by two thousand five hun- 
dred students, was founded so long ago as 1430, and 
rebuilt in 1873. 

A technical school — the only complete school of arts 
and sciences existing in Spain — was opened under the 
same roof in 1850; and, in connection with it, night 
classes are held. Any workman provided with a cer- 
tificate of good conduct can attend these classes free of 
cost. Schools of architecture and navigation are also 
attached to the University. 

Thirst after knowledge characterizes all classes of the 
community. A workman's literary club, or Athenseum, 
founded a few years back, is now a flourishing institution. 



82 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

aided by municipal funds. No kind of recreation is al- 
lowed within its walls. Night-schools opened here are 
attended by several hundred scholars. Barcelona also 
boasts of an Academy of Belles Lettres, the first founded 
in Spain ; schools of natural science, chemistry, agricul- 
ture, of medicine and surgery, of jurisprudence, an acad- 
emy devoted to the culture of the Catalonian language, 
and containing library and museum. This society has 
greatly contributed to the protection of ancient buildings 
throughout the province, besides amassing valuable treas- 
ure, legend, botanical and geological specimens and 
antiquities. The Archaeological Society of Barcelona has 
also effected good work : to its initiative the city is mainly 
indebted for the charming little collection of antiquities 
known as the " Museo Provincial," before alluded to. 

In places of public entertainment Barcelona is unusu- 
ally rich. Its Opera House, holding four thousand spec- 
tators, equals in spaciousness the celebrated house of 
Moscow. The unpretentious exterior gives no idea of the 
splendor within. A dozen theaters may be counted be- 
sides. Bull-fights, alas ! still disgrace the most advanced 
city of the Peninsula. The bull-ring was founded in 
1834, and the brutal spectacle still attracts enormous 
crowds, chiefly consisting of natives. The bull-fight is 
almost unanimously repudiated by foreign residents of 
all ranks. 

A few words must now be said about the history of 
this ancient place. The city founded here by Hamilcar 
Barco, father of the great Hannibal, is supposed to stand 
on the site of one more ancient still, existing long before 
the foundation of Rome. The Carthaginian city in 206 b. c. 
became a Roman colonia, under the title of " Faventia 
Julia Augusta Pia Barzino," which was eclipsed in im- 



ANCIENT HISTORY 83 

portance, however, by Tarragona, the Roman capital. 
In 409 A. D. it was taken by the Goths, and under their 
domination increased in size and influence, coining its 
own money stamped with the legend " Barcinona." On 
the destruction of Tarragona by the Moors Barcelona 
capitulated, was treated with clemency, and again be- 
came a metropolis. After many vicissitudes it was ruled 
in the ninth century by a Christian chief of its own, 
whose descendants till the twelfth governed it under the 
title of Counts of Barcelona, later assuming that of Kings 
of Aragon, to which kingdom the province was annexed. 
During the Middle Ages Barcelona played a foremost 
part in the history of commerce. In the words of Ford, 
" Like Carthage of old, it was the lord and terror of the 
Mediterranean. It divided with Italy the enriching com- 
merce of the East. It was then a city of commerce, con- 
quest, and courtiers, of taste, learning, and luxury — the 
Athens of the troubadour." 

Its celebrated .commercial code, framed in the thir- 
teenth century, obtained acceptance throughout Europe. 
Here one of the first printing-presses in Spain was set 
up, and here Columbus was received by Ferdinand and 
Isabella after his discovery of a new world. A hundred 
years later a ship was launched from the port, made to 
move by means of steam. The story of Barcelona is 
henceforth but a catalogue of tyrannies and treacheries, 
against which the brave, albeit turbulent, city struggled 
single-handed. In 171 1 it was bombarded and partly 
ruined by Philip V. ; a few years later, after a magnani- 
mous defense, it was stormed by Berwick, on behalf of 
Louis XIV., and given up to pillage, outrage, fire, and 
sword. Napoleon's fraudulent seizure of Barcelona is 
one of the most shameful pages of his shameful history. 



84 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

The first city — the key of Spain, as he called it — only 
to be taken in fair war by eighty thousand men, was 
basely entrapped, and remained in the hands of the 
French till the Treaty of Paris in 1814. From that time 
Barcelona has only enjoyed fitful intervals of repose. In 
1827 a popular rising took place in favor of Don Carlos. 
In 1834 Queen Christina was opposed, and in 1840 public 
opinion declared for Espartero. In 1856 and 1874 insur- 
rections occurred, not without bloodshed. 

Barcelona is a great gathering-place of merchants from 
all parts of Europe. In its handsome hotels is heard a very 
Babel of tongues. The principal manufactures consist of 
woolen stuffs — said to be inferior to English in quality — 
silk, lace, firearms, hats, hardware, pianos ; the last, as 
has been already stated, of excellent quality, and low in 
price. Porcelain, crystal, furniture, and inlaid work, 
must be included in this list, also ironwork and stone 
blocks. 

Beautifully situated on the Mediterranean between the 
mouths of two rivers,— the Llobregat and the Besos — ■ 
and possessing one of the finest climates in the world, 
Barcelona is doubtless destined ere long to rival Algiers 
as a health resort. Three lines of railway now connect it 
directly with Paris, from which it is separated by twenty- 
eight hours' journey. The traveller may leave Barcelona 
at five o'clock in the morning and reach Lyons at mid- 
night with only a change of carriages on the frontier. 
The route via Bordeaux is equally expeditious ; that by 
way of Clermont-Ferrand less so, but more picturesque. 
Hotels in the capital of Catalonia leave nothing to desire 
on the score of management, hygiene, comfort, and prices 
strictly regulated by tariff. The only drawback to be 
complained of is the total absence of the feminine ele- 



INSTITUTIONS 85 

ment-not a woman to be seen on the premises. Good 
family hotels, provided with lady clerks and chamber- 
maids, is a decided desideratum. The traveller wishing 
to attam a knowledge of the Spanish language, and see 
something of Spanish life and manners, may betake him- 
seit to one of the numerous boarding-houses 
_ Barcelona is very rich in philanthropic and charitable 
institutions Foremost of these is its Hospital of Santa 
Cruz, numbering six hundred beds. It is under the con-' 
joint management of sisters and brothers of charity and 
lay nurses of both sexes. An asylum for the insane 
forms part of the building, with annexes for the con- 
valescent. The Hospital del Sagrado Corazon, founded 
by public subscription in 1870 for surgical cases, also 
speaks volumes for the munificence of the citizens The 
only passport required of the patient is poverty. One in- 
teresting feature about this hospital is that the commit- 
tee of management consists of ladies. The nursing staff 
IS formed of French Sisters of St. Vincent de Paul Be- 
sides these must be named the orphanage for upwards of 
wo thousand children of both sexes-Casa de Caridad de 
la Provmcia de Barcelona-asylums for abandoned in- 
fants for the orphaned children of seamen, maternity 
hospitals creches, etc. There is also a school for the 
blmd and deaf mutes, the first of the kind established in 
Spam. Here the blind of both sexes receive a thorou^^h 
musical training, and deaf mutes are taught according 
to the system known as lip-speech. All teaching is 
gratuitous. ^ 

Barcelona possesses thirty-eight churches, without 
counting the chapels attached to convents, and a vast 
number of conventual houses. Several evangelical serv- 
ices are held on Sundays both in the city and in the 



86 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

suburb of Barceloneta. The Protestant communities of 
Spain, England, France, Germany, Sweden, and other 
countries, have here their representative and organization. 
Sunday-schools and night-schools for adults are held in 
connection with these churches. The Protestant body 
seems active. We find here a branch depot of the Re- 
ligious Tract Society; various religious magazines, many 
of them translations from the English and German, are 
published. Among these are the " Revista Christiana,"' 
intended for the more thoughtful class of readers ; " La 
Luz," organ of the Reformed Church of Spain; and 
several illustrated periodicals for children. Will Protes- 
tantism ever take deep root in the home of the Inquisi- 
tion? Time will show. 

That very advanced political opinions should be held 
Jiere need hardly surprise us. We find the following 
Democratic clubs in existence : The Historic Republi- 
can Club (" Centro Republicano Historico"), the Possi- 
bilist Republican Club (" Circulo Republicano Possibil- 
ista"), the Democratic Progressist Club, the Federal 
Republican Club, and many others. When next a great 
popular movement takes place in Spain — and already the 
event looms in the distance — without doubt the first im- 
pulse will be given at Barcelona. 

Electric lighting was early introduced here, a company 
being founded so long back as 1880, and having branches 
in the capital, Seville, Valencia, Bilbao, and other towns. 
The importance of Barcelona as a center of commerce is 
attested by the extraordinary number of banks. At 
every turn the stranger comes upon a bank. " Compared 
to the mighty hives of English industry and skill, here 
everything is petty," wrote Ford, fifty years ago. Very 



RELIGIOUS FETE DAYS 87 

different would be his verdict could he revisit the Man- 
chester and Liverpool of Catalonia in our own day. 

One curious feature of social life in Spain is the ex- 
traordinary number of religious fete days and public holi- 
days. No Bank Holiday Act is needed, as in the neigh- 
boring country of France. Here is a list of days during 
which business is for the most part suspended in this 
recreation-loving city : Twelfth-cake Day is the great 
festival of the little ones — carnival is kept up, if with less 
of former splendor, nevertheless with much spirit ; on 
Ash Wednesday rich and poor betake themselves to the 
country; Holy Thursday and Good Friday are celebrated 
with great pomp in the churches ; on Easter Eve takes 
place a procession of shepherds in the park ; Easter Mon- 
day is a day given up to rural festivity ; the 19th of March 
St. Jose's Day— is a universal fete, hardly a family in 
Spain without a Jose among its number. The first Sun- 
day in May is a feast of flowers and poetic competitions ; 
the days consecrated to St. Juan and St. Pedro are pub- 
lic holidays, patronized by enormous numbers of country- 
folks ; All Saints' and All Souls' Days are given up, as 
we have seen, to alternate devotion and festivity. On 
the 20th of December is celebrated the Feast of the Na- 
tivity, the fair and the displays of the shops attracting 
strangers from all parts. But it is especially the days 
sacred to the Virgin that are celebrated by all classes. 
Balls, banquets, processions, miracle-plays, illuminations, 
bull-fights, horse-races, scholastic fetes, industrial ex- 
hibitions, civic ceremonial, besides solemn services, occupy 
old and young, rich and poor. Feasting is the order of 
the day, and the confectioners' windows are wonderful to 
behold. 



88 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

Although many local customs are dying out, we may 
still see some of the curious street sights described by 
Ford fifty years ago, and the Mariolatry he deplored is 
still as active as ever. The goodly show of dainties in 
the shops, however, belie his somewhat acrimonious de- 
scription of a Spanish reception, " Those who receive," 
he wrote, " provide very little refreshment unless they 
wish to be covered with glory; space, light, and a little 
bad music, are sufficient to amuse these merry, easily- 
pleased souls, and satisfy their frugal bodies. To those 
who, by hospitality and entertainment, can only under- 
stand eating and drinking — food for man and beast — • 
such hungry proceedings will be more honored in the 
breach than in the observance; but these matters depend 
much on latitude and longitude." Be this as it may, either 
the climate of Barcelona has changed, or international 
communication has revolutionized Spanish digestion. 
Thirty years ago, when travelling in Spain, it was no un- 
usual sight to see a spare, aristocratic hidalgo enter a 
restaurant, and, with much form and ceremony, break- 
fast off a tiny omelette. Nowadays we find plenty of 
Spanish guests at public ordinaries doing ample justice 
to a plentiful board. English visitors in a Spanish house 
will not only get good music, in addition to space and 
light, but abundant hospitality of material sort. 

The Spain of which Ford wrote so humorously, and, it 
must be admitted, often so maliciously, is undergoing 
slow, but sure, transformation. Many national charac- 
teristics remain — the passion for the brutal bull-fight still 
disgraces a polished people, the women still spend the 
greater portion of their lives in church, religious intol- 
erance at the beginning of the twentieth century must be 
laid to the charge of a slowly progressive nation. On the 



CABALLERO 89 

other hand, and nowhere is the fact more patent than at 
Barcelona, the great intellectual and social revolution, de- 
scribed by contemporary Spanish novelists, is bringing 
the peninsula in closer sympathy with her neighbors. 
Many young Spaniards, for instance, are now educated 
in England, English is freely spoken at Malaga, and its 
literature is no longer unknown to Spanish readers. 
These facts indicate coming change. The exclusiveness 
which has hitherto barred the progress of this richly- 
dowed and attractive country is on the wane. Who 
shall say? We may ere long see dark-eyed students 
from Barcelona at Girton College, and a Spanish society 
for the protection of animals prohibiting the torture of 
bulls and horses for the public pleasure. 

Already— all honor to her name— a Spanish woman 
novelist, the gifted Caballero, has made pathetic appeals 
to her country-folks for a gentler treatment of animals in 
general. For the most part, it must be sadly confessed, 
in vain ! 

In spite of its foremost position, in intellectual and 
commercial pre-eminence, Barcelona has produced no 
famous men. Her noblest monument is raised to an 
alien; Lopez, a munificent citizen, honored by a statue, 
was born at Santander. Prim, although a Catalan, did 
not first see the light in the capital. By some strange 
concatenation of events, this noble city owes her fame 
rather to the collective genius and spirit of her children 
than to any one. A magnanimous stepmother, she has 
adopted those identified with her splendor to whom she 
did not herself give birth. 

Balzac wittily remarks that the dinner is the barometer 
of the family purse in Paris. One perceives whether 
Parisians are flourishing or no by a glance at the daily 



go THE MEDITERRANEAN 

board. Clothes afford a nice indication of temperature 
all the world over. We have only to notice what people 
wear, and we can construct a weather-chart for our- 
selves. Although the late autumn was, on the whole, fa- 
vorable, I left fires, furs, and overcoats in Paris. At 
Lyons, a city afflicted with a climate the proper epithet 
of which is " muggy," ladies had not yet discarded their 
summer clothes, and were only just beginning to re- 
furbish felt hats and fur-lined pelisses. 

At Montpellier the weather was April-like — mild, 
blowy, showery; waterproofs, goloshes, and umbrellas 
were the order of the day. On reaching Barcelona I 
found a blazing sun, windows thrown wide open, and 
everybody wearing the lightest garments. Such facts do 
duty for a thermometer. 

Boasting, as it does of one of the finest climates in the 
world, natural position of rare beauty, a genial, cosmo- 
politan, and strikingly handsome population, and lastly, 
accessibility, Barcelona should undoubtedly be a health 
resort hardly second to Algiers. Why it is not, I will 
undertake to explain. 

In the first place, there is something that invalids and 
valetudinarians require more imperatively than a perfect 
climate. They cannot do without the ministrations of 
women. To the suffering, the depressed, the nervous, 
feminine influence is ofttimes of more soothing — nay, 
healing — power than any medical prescription. 

Let none take the flattering unction to their souls — 
as well look for a woman in a Bashaw's army, or on a 
man-of-war, as in the palatial, well-appointed, otherwise 
irreproachable hotels of Barcelona ! They boast of marble 
floors, baths that would not have dissatisfied a Roman 
epicure, salons luxurious as those of a West-end club, 



HOTELS 91 

newspapers in a score of languages, a phalanx of gentle- 
manly waiters, a varied ordinary, delicious wines, but 
not a daughter of Eve, old or youngi handsome or ugly — 
if, indeed, there exists an ugly woman in Barcelona — 
to be caught sight of anywhere ! No charming landlady, 
as in French hotels, taking friendliest interest in her 
guests, no housemaids, willing and nimble as the Marys 
and Janes we have left at home, not even a rough, kindly, 
garrulous charwoman scrubbing the floors. The fashion- 
able hotel here is a vast barrack conducted on strictly 
impersonal principles. Visitors obtain their money's 
worth, and pay their bills. There the transaction between 
innkeeper and traveller ends. 

Good family hotels or " pensions," in which invalids 
would find a home-like element, are sadly needed in this 
engaging, highly-favored city. The next desideratum 
is a fast train from Port Bou — the first Spanish town on 
the frontier. An express on the Spanish line would 
shorten the journey to Lyons by several hours. New car- 
riages are needed as much as new iron roads. Many 
an English third-class is cleaner and more comfortable 
than the so-called " first " here. It must be added that 
the officials are all politeness and attention, and that be- 
yond slowness and shabbiness the traveller has nothing to 
complain of. Exquisite urbanity is still a characteristic 
of the Barcelonese as it was in the age of Cervantes. 
One exception will be mentioned farther on. 

If there are no women within the hotel walls — except, 
of course, stray lady tourists — heaven be praised, there 
are enough, and to spare, of most bewitching kind with- 
out. Piquancy is, perhaps, the foremost charm of a 
Spanish beauty, whether a high-born senora in her 
brougham, or a flower-girl at her stall. One and all 



92 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

seem born to turn the heads of the other sex, after the 
fashion of Carmen in Merimee's story. Nor is outward 
attraction confined to women. The city police, cab- 
drivers, tramway-conductors, all possess what Schopen- 
hauer calls the best possible letter of introduction, namely, 
good looks. 

The number of the police surprise us. These bustling, 
brilliant streets, with their cosmopolitan crowds, seem the 
quietest, most orderly in the world. It seems hard to 
believe that this tranquillity and contentment should be 
fallacious — on the surface only. Yet such is the case, 
as shown by the recent outbreak of rioting and bloodshed. 

" I have seen revolution after revolution," said to me 
a Spanish gentleman of high position, an hidalgo of the 
old school ; " I expect to see more if my life is sufficiently 
prolonged. Spain has no government; each in power 
seeks but self-aggrandizement. Our army is full of Bou- 
langers, each ready to usurp power for his own ends. 
You suggest a change of dynasty? We could not hope 
to be thereby the gainers. A Republic, say you? That 
also has proved a failure with us. Ah, you English 
are happy; you do not need to change abruptly the ex- 
isting order of things, you effect revolutions more calmly." 

I observed that perhaps national character and tempera- 
ment had something to do with the matter. He replied 
very sadly, " You are right ; we Southerners are more 
impetuous, of fiercer temper. Whichever way I look, I 
see no hope for unhappy Spain." 

Such somber reflections are difficult to realize by the 
passing traveller. Yet, when we consider the tremen- 
dous force of such a city as Barcelona, its progressive 
tendencies, its spirit of scientific inquiry, we can but 
admit that an Ultramontane regency and reactionary 



THE POSTE RESTANTE 93 

government must be out of harmony with the tendencies 
of modern Spain. 

There is only one occupation which seems to have a 
deteriorating effect upon the Spanish temper. The at- 
mosphere of the post-office, at any rate, makes a Catalan 
rasping as an east wind, acrimonious as a sloe-berry. I 
had been advised to provide myself with a passport 
before revisiting Spain, but I refused to do so on prin- 
ciple. 

What business have we with this relic of barbarism 
at the beginning of the twentieth century, in times of 
peace among a friendly people? The taking a passport 
under such circumstances seemed to me as much of an 
anachronism as the wearing of a scapular, or seeking the 
royal touch for scYofula. By pure accident, a registered 
letter containing bank notes was addressed to me at the 
Poste Restante. Never was such a storm in a teacup, 
such groaning of the mountain before the creeping forth 
of a tiny mouse! The delivery of registered letters in 
Spain is accompanied with as much form as a marriage 
contract in France. Let future travellers in expectation 
of such documents provide themselves, not only with a 
passport, but a copy of their baptismal register, of the 
marriage certificate of their parents, the family Bible — • 
no matter its size^and any other proofs of identity they 
can lay hands upon. They will find none superfluous. 



V 

MARSEILLES 

Its Greek founders and early history — Superb view from the sea — 
The Cannebiere — The Parado and Chemin de la Corniche — 
Chateau d'lf and Monte-Cristo — Influence of the Greeks in 
Marseilles — Ravages by plague and pestilence — ^Treasures of 
the Palais des Arts — The chapel of Notre Dame de la Garde 
— The new Marseilles and its fijture. 

ABOUT six hundred years before the birth of 
Christ, when the Mediterranean, ringed round 
with a long series of commercial colonies, was 
first beginning to transform itself with marvelous rapid- 
ity into " a Greek lake," a body of adventurous Hellenic 
mariners — young Columbuses of their day — full of life 
and vigor, sailed forth from Phocaea in Asia Minor, and 
steered their course, by devious routes, to what was then 
the Far West, in search of a fitting and unoccupied 
place in which to found a new trading city. Hard 
pressed by the Persians on their native shore, these free 
young Greeks — the Pilgrim Fathers of modern Mar- 
seilles — left behind for ever the city of their birth, and 
struck for liberty in some distant land, where no Cyrus 
or Xerxes could ever molest them. Sailing awav past 
Greece and Sicily, and round Messina into the almost 
unknown Tyrrhenian Sea, the adventurous voyagers ar- 
rived at last, after various false starts in Corsica and 
elsewhere, at some gaunt white hills of the Gaulish coast, 

94 



THE OLD PORT 95 

and cast anchor finally in a small but almost land-locked 
harbor, under the shelter of some barren limestone moun- 
tains. Whether they found a Phoenician colony already 
established on the spot or not, matters as little to history 
nowadays as whether their leaders' names were really 
Simos and Protis or quite otherwise. What does matter 
is the indubitable fact that Massalia, as its Greek founders 
called it, preserved through all its early history the im- 
press of a truly Hellenic city ; and that even to this 
moment much good Greek blood flows, without cjuestion, 
in the hot veins of all its genuine native-born citizens. 

The city thus founded has had a long, a glorious, and 
an eventful history. Marseilles is to-day the capital of 
the Mediterranean, the true commercial metropolis of that 
inland sea which now once more has become a single 
organic whole, after its long division by the Mohamme- 
dan conquest of North Africa and the Levant into two 
distinct and hostile portions. Naples, it is true, has a 
larger population; but then, a population of Neapolitan 
lazzaroni, mere human drones lounging about their hive 
and basking in the sunlight, does not count for much, 
except for the macaroni trade. What Venice once was, 
that Marseilles is to-day ; the chief gate of Mediterranean 
traffic, the main mart of merchants who go down in 
ships on the inland sea. In the Cannebiere and the Old 
Port, she possesses, indeed, as Edmond About once 
graphically phrased it, " an open door upon the Mediter- 
ranean and the whole world." The steamers and sailing 
vessels that line her quays bind together the entire 
Mediterranean coast into a single organic commercial 
whole. Here is the packet for Barcelona and Malaga; 
there, the one for Naples, Malta, and Constantinople. By 
this huge liner, sunning herself at La Joliette, we can go 



96 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

to Athens and Alexandria; by that, to Algiers, Cagliari, 
and Tunis. Nay, the Suez Canal has extended her 
bounds beyond the inland sea to the Indian Ocean; and 
the Pillars of Hercules no longer restrain her from free 
use of the great Atlantic water-way. You may take ship, 
if you will, from the Quai de la Fraternite for Bombay 
or Yokohama, for Rio or Buenos Ayres, for Santa Cruz, 
Teneriffe, Singapore, or Melbourne. And this wide ex- 
tension of her commercial importance Marseilles owes, 
mainly no doubt, to her exceptional advantages of nat- 
ural position, but largely also, I venture to think, to the 
Hellenic enterprise of her acute and vigorous Grseco- 
Gaulish population. 

And what a marvelous history has she not behind her ! 
First of all, no doubt, a small fishing and trading station 
of prehistoric Gaulish or Ligurian villagers occupied the 
site where now the magnificent fagade of the Bourse 
commemorates the names of Massalia's greatest Phocsean 
navigators. Then the Phoenicians supervened upon the 
changeful scene, and built those antique columns and 
forgotten shrines whose scanty remains were recently un- 
earthed in the excavations for making the Rue de la 
Republique. Next came the early Phocaean colonists, 
reinforced a little later by the whole strength of their un- 
conquerable townsmen, who sailed away in a body, ac- 
cording to the well-known legend preserved in Herodotus, 
when they could no longer hold out against the besieging 
Persian. The Greek town became as it were a sort of 
early Calcutta for the Gaulish trade, with its own outlying 
colonies at Nice, Antibes, and Hyeres, and its inland 
" factories " (to use the old familiar Anglo-Indian word) 
at Tarascon, Avignon, and many other ancient towns of 
the Rhone valley. Her admirals sailed on every known 



MASS'ALIA 97 

sea : Euthymenes explored the coasts of Africa as far as 
Senegal; Pytheas followed the European shore past 
Britain and Ireland to the north of the Shetlands. Till 
the Roman arrived upon the Gaulish coast with his 
dreaded short-sword, Massalia, in short, remained undis- 
puted queen of all the western Mediterranean waters. 

Before the wolf of the Capitol, however, all stars 
paled. Yet even under the Roman Empire Massilia (as 
the new conquerors called the name, with a mere change 
of vowel) retained her Greek speech and manners, which 
she hardly lost (if we may believe stray hints in later 
historians) till the very eve of the barbarian invasion. 
With the period of the Crusades, the city of Euthymenes 
became once more great and free, and hardly lost her 
independence completely up to the age of Louis XIV. 
[t was only after the French Revolution, however, that 
she began really to supersede Venice as the true capital 
of the Mediterranean. The decline of the Turkish power, 
the growth of trade with Alexandria and the Levant, the 
final crushing of the Barbary pirates, the conquest of Al- 
geria, and, last of all, the opening of the Suez Canal — 
a French work — all helped to increase her commerce and 
population by gigantic strides in half a dozen decades. 
At the present day Marseilles is the chief maritime town 
of France, and the acknowledged center of Mediterra- 
nean travel and traffic. 

The right way for the stranger to enter Marseilles is, 
therefore, by sea, the old-established high road of her an- 
tique commerce. The Old Port and the Cannebiere are 
her front door, while the railway from Paris leads you in 
at best, as it were, through shabby corridors, by a side 
entry. Seen from the sea, indeed, Marseilles is superb. I 
hardly know whether the whole Mediterranean has any 



98 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

finer approach to a great town to display before the eyes 
of the artistic traveller. All round the city rises a semi- 
circle of arid white hills, barren and bare indeed to look 
upon; but lighted up by the blue Provengal sky with a 
wonderful flood of borrowed radiance, bringing out every 
jutting peak and crag through the clear dry air in distinct 
perspective. Their sides are dotted with small square 
white houses, the famous bastides or country boxes of the 
good Marseillais bourgeois. In front, a group of sunlit 
rocky isles juts out from the bay, on one of which tower 
the picturesque bastions of the Chateau d'lf, so familiar 
to the reader of " Monte-Cristo." The foreground is 
occupied by the town itself, with its forest of masts, and 
the new dome of its checkered and gaudy Byzantine Ca- 
thedral, which has quite supplanted the old cathedral of 
St. Lazare, of which only a few traces remain. In the 
middle distance the famous old pilgrimage chapel of 
Notre Dame de la Garde crowns the summit of a pyra- 
midal hill, with its picturesque mass of confused archi- 
tecture. Away to right and left, those endless white 
hills gleam on with almost wearying brightness in the 
sun for miles together; but full in front, where the eye 
rests longest, the bustle and commotion of a great trading 
town teem with varied life upon the quays and landing- 
places. 

If you are lucky enough to enter -Marseilles for the 
first time by the Old Port, you find yourself at once in the 
very thick of all that is most characteristic and vivid and 
local in the busy city. That little oblong basin, shut in on 
its outer side by projecting hills, was indeed the making 
of the great town. Of course the Old Port is now utterly 
insufficient for the modern wants of a first-class harbor; 
yet it still survives, not only as a historical relic but as a 



THE CANNEBIERE 99 

living reality, thronged even to-day with the crowded 
ships of all nations. On the quay you may see the entire 
varied Mediterranean world in congress assembled. Here 
Greeks from Athens and Levantines from Smyrna jostle 
cheek by jowl with Italians from Genoa and Arabs or 
Moors from Tangier or Tunis. All costumes and all 
manners are admissible. The crowd is always excited, 
and always animated. A babel of tongues greets your 
ears as you land, in which the true Marseillais dialect of 
the Provencal holds the chief place — a graceful language, 
wherein the predominant Latin element has not even yet 
wholly got rid of certain underlying traces of Hellenic 
origin. Bright color, din, life, movement : in a moment 
the traveller from a northern climate recognizes the 
patent fact that he has reached a new world — that vivid, 
impetuous, eager southern world, which has its center 
to-day on the Provengal seaboard. 

Go a yard or two farther into the crowded Cannebiere, 
and the difference between this and the chilly North 
will at each step be forced even more strikingly upon 
you. That famous thoroughfare is firmly believed by 
every good son of old Marseilles to be, in the familiar 
local phrase, " la plus belle rue de I'univers." My own 
acquaintance with the precincts of the universe being 
somewhat limited (I have never travelled myself, indeed, 
beyond the narrow bounds of our own solar system), 
I should be loth to endorse too literally and vmreservedly 
this sweeping commendation of the Marseillais mind ; 
but as regards our modest little planet at least, I certainly 
know no other street within my own experience (save 
Broadway, New York) that has quite so much life and 
variety in it as the Cannebiere. It is not long, to be sure, 
but it is broad and airy, and from morning till night its 

L.oFG. 



100 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

spacious trottoirs are continually crowded by such a surg- 
ing throng of cosmopolitan humanity as you will hardly 
find elsewhere on this side of Alexandria. For cosmo- 
politanism is the true key-note of Marseilles, and the 
Cannebiere is a road that leads in one direction straight 
to Paris, but opens in the other direction full upon Algiers 
and Italy, upon Egypt and India. 

What a picture it offers, too, of human life, that noisy 
Cannebiere ! By day or by night it is equally attractive. 
On it centers all that is alive in Marseilles — big hotels, 
glittering cafes, luxurious shops, scurrying drays, high- 
stepping carriage-horses, and fashionably-dressed human- 
ity; an endless crowd, many of them hatless and bonnet- 
less in true southern fashion, parade without ceasing its 
ringing pavements. At the end of all, the Old Port closes 
the view with its serried masts, and tells you the where- 
fore of this mixed society. The Cannebiere, in short, is 
the Rue de Rivoli of the Mediterranean, the main thor- 
oughfare of all those teeming shores of oil and wine, 
where culture still lingers by its ancient cradle. 

Close to the Quai, and at the entrance of the Canne- 
biere, stands the central point of business in new Mar- 
seilles, the Bourse, where the filial piety of the modern 
Phocfeans has done ample homage to the sacred memory 
of their ancient Hellenic ancestors. For in the place of 
honor on the fagade of that great palace of commerce the 
chief post has been given, as was due, to the statues of 
the old Massaliote admirals, Pytheas and Euthymenes. 
It is this constant consciousness of historical continuity 
that adds so much interest to Mediterranean towns. One 
feels as one stands before those two stone figures in 
the crowded Cannebiere, that after all humanity is one, 



ALLEES DE MEILHAN loi 

and that the Phocseans themselves are still, in the persons 
of their sons, among us. 

The Cannebiere runs nearly east and west, and is of 
no great length, under its own name at least ; but under 
the transparent alias of the Rue de Noailles it continues 
on in a straight line till it widens out at last into the 
Alices de Meilhan, the favorite haunt of all the gossips 
and quidnuncs of Marseilles. The Alices de Meilhan, 
indeed, form the beau ideal of the formal and fashionable 
French promenade. Broad avenues of plane trees cast a 
mellow shade over its well-kept walks, and the neatest 
of nurses in marvelous caps and long silk streamers 
dandle the laciest and fluffiest of babies, in exquisite cos- 
tumes, with ostentatious care, upon their bountiful laps. 
The stone seats on either side buzz with the latest news 
of the town ; the Zouave flirts serenely with the bonnet- 
less shop-girls ; the sergeant-de-ville stalks proudly down 
the midst, and barely deigns to notice such human weak- 
nesses. These Alices are the favorite haunt of all idle 
Marseilles, below the rank of " carriage company," and 
it is probable that Satan finds as much mischief still for 
its hands to do here as in any other part of that easy- 
going city. 

At right angles to the main central artery thus con- 
stituted by the Cannebiere, the Rue de Noailles, and the 
Alices de Meilhan runs the second chief stream of Mar- 
seillais life, down a channel which begins as the Rue 
dAix and the Cours Belzunce, and ends, after various 
intermediate disguises, as the Rue de Rome and the 
Prado. Just where it crosses the current of the Canne- 
biere, this polyonymous street rejoices in the title of the 
Cours St. Louis. Close by is the place where the flower- 



102 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

women sit perched up quaintly in their funny little 
pulpits, whence they hand down great bunches of fresh 
dewy violets or pinky-white rosebuds, with persuasive 
eloquence to the obdurate passer-by. This flower-market 
is one of the sights of Marseilles, and I know no other 
anywhere — not even at Nice — so picturesque or so old- 
world. It keeps up something of the true Proven9al 
flavor, and reminds one that here, in this Greek colony, 
we are still in the midst of the land of roses and of 
Good King Rene, the land of troubadours, and gold and 
flowers, and that it is the land of sun and summer sun- 
shine. 

As the Rue de Rome emerges from the town and gains 
the suburb, it clothes itself in overhanging shade of 
plane-trees, and becomes known forthwith as the Prado 
— that famous Prado, more sacred to the loves and joys 
of the Marseillais than the Champs Elysees are to the 
born Parisian. For the Prado is the afternoon-drive of 
Marseilles, the Rotten Row of local equestrianism, the 
rallying-place and lounge of all that is fashionable in the 
Phocasan city as the Alices de Meilhan are of all that is 
bourgeois or frankly popular. Of course the Prado does 
not diflfer much from all other promenades of its sort in 
France : the upper-crust of the world has grown pain- 
fully tame and monotonous everywhere within the last 
twenty-five years : all flavor and savor of national costume 
or national manners has died out of it in the lump, 
and left us only in provincial centers the insipid graces 
of London and Paris, badly imitated. Still, the Prado 
is undoubtedly lively; a broad avenue bordered with 
magnificent villas of the meretricious Haussmannesque 
order of architecture ; and it possesses a certain great ad- 
vantage over every other similar promenade I know of 



CHEMIN DE LA CORNICHE 103 

in the world — it ends at last in one of the most beautiful 
and picturesque sea-drives in all Europe. 

This sea-drive has been christened by the Marseillais, 
with pardonable pride, the Chemin de la Corniche, in 
humble imitation of that other great Corniche road which 
winds its tortuous way by long, slow gradients over the 
ramping heights of the Turbia between Nice and Men- 
tone. And a " ledge road " it is in good earnest, carved 
like a shelf out of the solid limestone. When I first 
knew Marseilles there was no Corniche : the Prado, a 
long flat drive through a marshy plain, ended then 
abruptly on the sea-front; and the hardy pedestrian who 
wished to return to town by way of the cliffs had to 
clamber along a doubtful and rocky pith, always difficult, 
often dangerous, and much obstructed by the attentions 
of the prowling doiianier, ever ready to arrest him as a 
suspected smuggler. Nowadays, however, all that is 
changed. The French engineers — always famous for 
their roads — have hewn a broad and handsome carriage- 
drive out of the rugged rock, here hanging on a shelf 
sheer above the sea; there supported from below by 
heavy buttresses of excellent masonwork ; and have 
given the Marseillais one of the most exquisite prome- 
nades to be found anywhere on the seaboard of the Con- 
tinent. It somewhat resembles the new highway from 
Villefranche to Monte Carlo ; but the islands with which 
the sea is here studded recall rather Cannes or the neigh- 
borhood of Sorrento. The seaward views are everywhere 
delicious ; and when sunset lights up the bare white rocks 
with pink and purple, no richer coloring against the 
emerald green bay, can possibly be imagined in art or na- 
ture. It is as good as Torquay; and how can cosmo- 
politan say better? 



104 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

On the Corniche, too, is the proper place nowadays to 
eat that famous old Marseillais dish, immortalized by 
Thackeray, and known as bouillabaisse. The Reserve de 
Roubion in particular prides itself on the manufacture 
of this strictly national Provengal dainty, which proves, 
however, a little too rich and a little too mixed in its 
company for the fastidious taste of most English gour- 
mets. Greater exclusiveness and a more delicate eclecti- 
cism in matters of cookery please our countrymen better 
than such catholic comprehensiveness. I once asked a 
white-capped Proven9al chef what were the precise in- 
gredients of his boasted boiiillabaisse; and the good man 
opened his palms expansively before him as he answered 
with a shrug, " Que voulez-vous ? Fish to start with ; 
and then — a handful of anything that happens to be 
lying about loose in the kitchen." 

Near the end of the Prado, at its junction with the 
Corniche, modern Marseilles rejoices also in its park or 
Public Garden. Though laid out on a flat and uninter- 
esting plain, with none of the natural advantages of the 
Bois de Boulogne or of the beautiful Central Park at 
New York, these pretty grounds are nevertheless interest- 
ing to the northern visitor, who makes his first acquaint- 
ance with the Mediterranean here, by their curious and 
novel southern vegetation. The rich types of the south 
are everywhere apparent. Clumps of bamboo in feathery 
clusters overhang the ornamental waters ; cypresses and 
araucarias shade the gravel walks ; the eucalyptus show- 
ers down its fluffy flowers upon the grass below ; the 
quaint Salisburia covers the ground in autumn with its 
pretty and curious maidenhair-shaped foliage. Yuccas 
and cactuses flourish vigorously in the open air, and even 
fan-palms manage to thrive the year round in cosy cor- 



CHATEAU D'lF 105 

ners. It is an introduction to the glories of Rivieran 
vegetation, and a faint echo of the magnificent tones of 
the North African flora. 

As we wind in and out on our way back to Marseilles 
by the Corniche road, with the water ever dashing white 
from the blue against the solid crags, whose corners we 
turn at every tiny headland, the most conspicuous object 
in the nearer view is the Chateau d'lf, with the neighbor- 
ing islets of Pomegues and Ratonneau. Who knows not 
the Chateau d'lf, by name at least, has wasted his boy- 
hood. The castle is not indeed of any great antiquity — it 
was built by order of Frangois I — nor can it lay much 
claim to picturesqueness of outline or beauty of archi- 
tecture; but in historical and romantic associations it is 
peculiarly rich, and its situation is bold, interesting, and 
striking. It was here that Mirabeau was imprisoned 
under a lettre de cachet obtained by his father, the friend 
of man ; and it was here, to pass from history to romance, 
that Monte-Cristo went through those marvelous and 
somewhat incredible adventures which will keep a hun- 
dred generations of school-boys in breathless suspense 
long after Walter Scott is dead and forgotten. 

But though the Prado and the Corniche are alive with 
carriages on sunny afternoons, it is on the quays them- 
selves, and around the docks and basins, that the true 
vivacious Marseillais life must be seen in all its full flow 
and eagerness. The quick southern temperament, the 
bronzed faces, the open-air existence, the hurry and 
bustle of a great seaport town, display themselves there 
to the best advantage. And the ports of Marseilles are 
many and varied : their name is legion, and their shipping 
manifold. As long ago as 1850, the old square port, the 
Phocaean harbor, was felt to have become wholly insuf- 



io6 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

ficient for the needs of modern commerce in Marseilles. 
From that day to this, the accommodation for vessels 
has gone on increasing with that incredible rapidity which 
marks the great boom of modern times. Never, surely, 
since the spacious days of great Elizabeth, has the world 
so rapidly widened its borders as in these latter days in 
which we are all living. The Pacific and the Indian 
Ocean have joined the Atlantic. In 1853 the Port de la 
Joliette was added, therefore, to the Old Harbor, and 
people thought Marseilles had met all the utmost demands 
of its growing commerce. But the Bassin dvi Lazaret and 
the Bassin dArenc were added shortly after; and then, 
in 1856, came the further need for yet another port, the 
Bassin National. In 1872 the Bassin de la Gare Maritime 
was finally executed ; and now the Marseillais are crying 
out again that the ships know not where to turn in the 
harbor. Everywhere the world seems to cosmopolitanize 
itself and to extend its limits : the day of small things 
has passed away for ever ; the day of vast ports, huge 
concerns, gigantic undertakings is full upon us. 

Curiously enough, however, in spite of all this rapid 
and immense development, it is still to a great extent the 
Greek merchants who hold in their hands — even in our 
own time — the entire commerce and wealth of the old 
Phocasan city. A large Hellenic colony of recent im- 
portation still inhabits and exploits Marseilles. Among 
the richly-dressed crowd of southern ladies that throngs 
the Prado on a sunny afternoon in full season, no small 
proportion of the proudest and best equipped who loll 
back in their carriages were born at Athens or in the 
Ionic Archipelago. For even to this day, these modern 
Greeks hang together wonderfully with old Greek per- 
sistence. Their creed keeps them apart from the Catho- 



GREEK MARRIAGES 107 

lie French, in whose midst they live, and trade, and 
thrive; for, of course, they are all members of the 
" Orthodox " Church, and they retain their orthodoxy in 
spite of the ocean of Latin Christianity which girds them 
round with its flood on every side. The Greek commun- 
ity, in fact, dwells apart, marries apart, worships apart, 
and thinks apart. The way the marriages, in particular, 
are most frequently managed, differs to a very curious 
extent from our notions of matrimonial proprieties. The 
system — as duly explained to me one day under the 
shady plane-trees of the Alices de Meilhan, in very choice 
modern Greek, by a Hellenic merchant of Marseilles, 
who himself had been " arranged for " in this very man- 
ner — is both simple and mercantile to the highest degree 
yet practised in any civilized country. It is " marriage 
by purchase" pure and simple; only here, instead of the 
husband buying the wife, it is the wife who practically 
buys the husband. 

A trader or ship-owner of Marseilles, let us say, has 
two sons, partners in his concern, who he desires to 
marry. It is important, however, that the wives he se- 
lects for them should not clash with the orthodoxy of 
the Hellenic community. Our merchant, therefore, anx- 
ious to do the best in both worlds at once, writes to his 
correspondents of the great Greek houses in Smyrna, 
Constantinople, Beyrout, and Alexandria; nay, perhaps 
even in London, Manchester, New York, and Rio, stating 
his desire to settle his sons in life, and the amount of dot 
they would respectively require from the ladies upon 
whom they decided to bestow their name and affections. 
The correspondents reply by return of post, recommend- 
ing to the favorable attention of the happy swains cer- 
tain Greek young ladies in the town of their adoption, 



io8 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

whose dot and whose orthodoxy can be equally guaran- 
teed as beyond suspicion. Photographs and lawyers' 
letters are promptly exchanged ; settlements are drawn up 
to the mutual satisfaction of both the high contracting 
parties; and when all the business portion of the trans- 
action has been thoroughly sifted, the young ladies are 
consigned, with the figs and dates, as per bill of lading, 
to the port of entry, where their lords await them, and 
are duly married, on the morning of their arrival, at the 
Greek church in the Rue de la Grande Armee, by the 
reverend archimandrite. The Greeks are an eminently 
commercial people, and they find this idyllic mode of con- 
ducting a courtship not only preserves the purity of the 
orthodox faith and the Hellenic blood, but also saves an 
immense amount of time which might otherwise be wasted 
on the composition of useless love-letters. 

It was not so, however, in the earlier Greek days. 
Then, the colonists of Marseilles and its dependent towns 
must have intermarried freely with the native Gaulish and 
Ligurian population of all the tributary Provengal sea- 
board. The true antique Hellenic stock — the Aryan 
Achseans of the classical period — were undoubtedly a 
fair, a light-haired race, with a far more marked pro- 
portion of the blond type than now survives among their 
mixed and degenerate modern descendants. In Greece 
proper, a large intermixture of Albanian and Sclavonic 
blood, which the old Athenians would have stigmatized 
as barbarian or Scythian, has darkened the complexion 
and blackened the hair of a vast majority of the existing 
population. But in Marseilles, curiously enough, and in 
the surrounding country, the genuine old light Greek 
type has left its mark to this day upon the physique of 
the inhabitants. In the ethnographical map of France, 



ANCIENT TYPES 109 

prepared by two distinguished French savants, the other 
Mediterranean departments are all, without exception, 
marked as " dark " or " very dark," while the depart- 
ment of the Bouches du Rhone is marked as " white," 
having, in fact, as large a proportion of fair complexions, 
blond hair, and light eyes as the eastern semi-German 
provinces, or as Normandy and Flanders. This curious 
survival of a very ancient type in spite of subsequent del- 
uges, must be regarded as a notable instance of the way 
in which the popular stratum everywhere outlasts all 
changes of conquest and dynasty, of governing class and 
ruling family. 

Just think, indeed, how many changes and revolutions 
in this respect that fiery Marseilles has gone through since 
the early days of her Hellenic independence ! First came 
that fatal but perhaps indispensable error of inviting the 
Roman aid against her Ligurian enemies, which gave the 
Romans their earliest foothold in Southern Gaul. Then 
followed the foundation of Aquse Sextise or Aix, the first 
Roman colony in what was soon to be the favorite prov- 
ince of the new conquerors. After that, in the great civil 
war, the Greeks of Marseilles were unlucky enough to 
espouse the losing cause ; and, in the great day of Caesar's 
triumph, their town was reduced accordingly to the in- 
ferior position of a mere Roman dependency. Merged 
for a while in the all-absorbing empire, Marseilles fell at 
last before Visigoths and Burgundians in the stormy days 
of that vast upheaval, during which it is impossible for 
even the minutest historian to follow in detail the long 
list of endless conquests and re-conquests, while the 
wandering tribes ebbed and flowed on one another in 
wild surging waves of refluent confusion. Ostrogoth 
and Frank, Saracen and Christian, fought one after an- 



no THE MEDITERRANEAN 

other for possession of the mighty city. In the process 
her Greek and Roman civilization was wholly swept 
away and not a trace now remains of those glorious 
basilicas, temples, and arches, which must once, no doubt, 
have adorned the metropolis of Grecian Gaul far more 
abundantly than they still adorn mere provincial centers 
like Aries and Nimes, Vienne, and Orange. But at the 
end of it all, when Marseilles emerges once more into the 
light of day as an integral part of the Kingdom of Pro- 
vence, it still retains its essentially Greek population, 
fairer and handsomer than the surrounding dark Ligurian 
stock ; it still boasts its clear-cut Greek beauty of profile, 
its Hellenic sharpness of wit and quickness of perception. 
And how interesting in this relation to note, too, that 
Marseilles kept up, till a comparatively late period in the 
Middle Ages, her active connection with the Byzantine 
Empire; and that her chief magistrate was long nomi- 
nated — in name at least, if not in actual fact — by the 
shadowy representative of the Caesars at Constantinople. 
May we not attribute to this continuous persistence of 
the Greek element in the life of Marseilles something 
of that curious local and self-satisfied feeling which north- 
ern Frenchmen so often deride in the born Marseillais? 
With the Greeks, the sense of civic individuality and civic 
separateness was always strong. Their Polis was to them 
their whole world — the center of everything. They were 
Athenians, Spartans, Thebans first; Greeks or even 
Boeotians and Lacedsemonians in the second place only. 
And the Marseillais bourgeois, following the traditions of 
his Phocsean ancestry, is still in a certain sense the most 
thoroughly provincial, the most uncentralized and anti- 
Parisian of modern French citizens. He believes in 
Marseilles even more devoutly than the average boulevar- 



THE (MARSEILLAIS iii 

dier believes in Paris. To him the Cannebiere is the 
High Street of the world, and the Cours St. Louis the 
hub of the universe. How pleased with himself and all 
his surroundings he is, too ! " At Marseilles, we do so- 
and-so," is a frequent phrase which seems to him to 
settle off-hand all questions of etiquette, of procedure, or 
of the fitness of things generally. " Massilia "locuta est; 
causa finita est." That anything can be done better any- 
where than it is done in the Cannebiere or the Old Port 
is an idea that never even so much as occurs to his smart 
and quick but somewhat geographically limited intelli- 
gence. One of the best and cleverest of Mars's clever 
Marseillais caricatures exhibits a good bourgeois from 
the Cours Pierre Puget, in his Sunday best, abroad on 
his travels along the Genoese Riviera. On the shore at 
San Remo, the happy, easy-going, conceited fellow, brim- 
ming over to the eyes with the happy-go-lucky Cockney 
joy of the South, sees a couple of pretty Italian fisher- 
girls mending their nets, and addresses them gaily in his 
own soft dialect : " He bien, mes pitchounettes, vous etes 
tellement croussetillantes que, sans ezaggerer, bagasse ! ze 
vous croyais de Marseille ! " To take anyone elsewhere 
for a born fellow-citizen was the highest compliment his 
good Marseillais soul could possibly hit upon. 

Nevertheless, the Marseillais are not proud. They 
generously allow the rest of the world to come and admire 
them. They throw their doors open to East and West; 
they invite Jew and Greek alike to flow in unchecked, 
and help them make their own fortunes. They know 
very well that if Marseilles, as they all firmly believe, is 
the finest town in the round world, it is the trade with the 
Levant that made and keeps it so. And they take good 
care to lay themselves out for entertaining all and sundry 



112 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

as they come, in the handsomest hotels in Southern 
Europe. The mere through passenger traffic with India 
alone would serve to make Marseilles nowadays a com- 
mercial town of the first importance. 

Marseilles, however, has had to pay a heavy price, 
more than once, for her open intercourse with the Eastern 
world, the native home of cholera and all other epidemics. 
From a very early time, the city by the Rhone has been 
the favorite haunt of the Plague and like oriental visit- 
ants ; and more than one of its appalling epidemics has 
gained for itself a memorable place in history. To say 
the truth, old Marseilles laid itself out almost deliberately 
for the righteous scourge of zymotic disease. The vieille 
ville, that trackless labyrinth of foul and noisome alleys, 
tortuous, deeply worn, ill-paved, ill-ventilated, has been 
partly cleared away by the works of the Rue de la Repub- 
lique now driven through its midst ; but enough still re- 
mains of its Dsedalean maze to show the adventurous 
traveller who penetrates its dark and drainless dens how 
dirty the strenuous Provencal can be when he bends his 
mind to it. There the true-blooded Marseillais of the 
old rock and of the Greek profile still lingers in his native 
insanitary condition; there the only scavenger is that 
" broom of Provence," the swooping mistral — the fierce 
Alpine wind which, blowing fresh down with sweeping 
violence from the frozen mountains, alone can change the 
air and cleanse the gutters of that filthy and malodorous 
mediaeval city. Everywhere else the mistral is a curse: 
in Marseilles it is accepted with mitigated gratitude as an 
excellent substitute for main drainage. 

It is not to be wondered at that, under such conditions, 
Marseilles was periodically devastated b}^ terrible epidem- 
ics. Communications with Constantinople, Alexandria, 



MONSEIGNEUR BELZUNCE 113 

and the Levant were always frequent ; communications 
with Tunis, Algiers, and Morocco were far from un- 
common. And if the germs of disease were imported 
from without, they found at Marseilles an appropriate 
nest provided beforehand for their due development. 
Time after time the city was ravaged by plague or pes- 
tilence; the most memorable occasion being the great 
epidemic of 1720, when, according to local statistics (too 
high, undoubtedly), as many as forty thousand persons 
died in the streets, " like lambs on the hill-tops." Never, 
even in the East itself, the native home of the plague, 
says Mery, the Marseilles poet-romancer, was so sad a 
picture of devastation seen as in the doomed streets of 
that wealthy city. The pestilence came, according to 
public belief, in a cargo of wool in May, 1720: it raged 
till, by September, the tale of dead per diem had reached 
the appalling number of a thousand. 

So awful a public calamity was not without the usual 
effect in bringing forth counterbalancing examples of 
distinguished public service and noble self-denial. Chief 
among them shines forth the name of the Chevalier 
Rose, who, aided by a couple of hundred condemned 
convicts, carried forth to burial in the ditches of La 
Tourette no less than two thousand dead bodies which 
infected the streets with their deadly contagion. There, 
quicklime was thrown over the horrible festering mass, in 
a spot still remembered as the " Graves of the Plague- 
stricken." But posterity has chosen most especially to 
select for the honors of the occasion Monseigneur Bel- 
zunce — " Marseilles' good bishop," as Pope calls him, 
who returned in the hour of danger to his stricken flock 
from the salons of Versailles, and by offering the last 
consolations of religion to the sick and dying, aided some- 



114 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

what in checking the orgy of despair and of panic- 
stricken callousness which reigned everywhere through- 
out the doomed city. The picture is indeed a striking 
and romantic one. On a high altar raised in the Cours 
which now bears his name, the brave bishop celebrated 
Mass one day before the eyes of all his people, doing pen- 
ance to heaven in the name of his flock, his feet bare, a 
rope round his neck, and a flaming torch held high in 
his hand, for the expiation of the sins that had brought 
such punishment. His fervent intercession, the faithful 
believed, was at last effectual. In May, 1721, the plague 
disappeared ; but it left Marseilles almost depopulated. 
The bishop's statue in bronze, by Ramus, on the Cours 
Belzunce, now marks the site of this strange and unparal- 
leled religious service. 

From the Belzunce Monument, the Rue Tapis Vert and 
the Alices des Capucins lead us direct by a short cut to the 
Boulevard Longchamp, which terminates after the true 
modern Parisian fashion, with a vista of the great foun- 
tains and the Palais des Arts, a bizarre and original 
but not in its way unpleasing specimen of recent French 
architecture. It is meretricious, of course — that goes 
without the saying : what else can one expect from the 
France of the Second Empire? But it is distinctly what 
the children call " grand," and if once you can put your- 
self upon its peculiar level, it is not without a certain 
queer rococo beauty of its own. As for the Chateau 
d'Eau, its warmest admirer could hardly deny that it is 
painfully baroque in design and execution. Tigers, 
panthers, and lions decorate the approach ; an allegorical 
figure representing the Durance, accompanied by the 
geniuses of the Vine and of Corn, holds the seat of honor 
in the midst of the waterspouts. To right and left a 



THE PALAIS DES ARTS 115 

triton blows his shelly trumpet; griffins and fauns crown 
the summit ; and triumphal arches flank the sides. A 
marvelous work indeed, of the Versailles type, better 
fitted to the ideas of the eighteenth century than to those 
of the age in which we live at present. 

The Palais des Arts, one wing of this monument, en- 
closes the usual French provincial picture-gallery, with 
the stereotyped Rubens, and the regulation Caraccio. It 
has its Raffael, its Giulio Romano, and its Andrea del 
Sarto. It even diverges, not without success, into the 
paths of Dstch and Flemish painting. But it is specially 
rich, of course, in Provengal works, and its Pugets in 
particular are both numerous and striking. There is a 
good Murillo and a square-faced Holbein, and many 
yards of modern French battles and nudities, alternating 
for the most part from the sensuous to the sanguinary. 
But the gem of the collection is a most characteristic and 
interesting Perugino, as beautiful as anything from the 
master's hand to be found in the galleries of Florence. 
Altogether, the interior makes one forgive the fagade and 
the Chateau d'Eau. One good Perugino covers, like 
charity, a multitude of sins of the Marseillais architects. 

Strange to say, old as Marseilles is, it contains to-day 
hardly any buildings of remote antiquity. One would be 
tempted to suppose beforehand that a town with so 
ancient and so continuous a history would teem with 
Grseco-Roman and mediaeval remains. As Phocsean 
colony, imperial town, mediaeval republic, or Provengal 
city, it has so long been great, famous, and prosperous 
that one might not unnaturally expect in its streets to 
meet with endless memorials of its early grandeur. Noth- 
ing could be farther from the actual fact. While Nimes, 
a mere second-rate provincial municipality, and Aries, a 



ii6 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

local Roman capital, have preserved rich mementoes of 
the imperial days — temples, arches, aqueducts, amphithe- 
aters — Marseilles, their mother city, so much older, so 
much richer, so much greater, so much more famous, 
has not a single Roman building; scarcely even a second- 
rate mediaeval chapel. Its ancient cathedral has been 
long since pulled down ; of its oldest church but a spire 
now remains, built into a vulgar modern pseudo-Gothic 
Calvary. St. Victor alone, near the Fort St. Nicolas, is 
the one really fine piece of mediaeval architecture still left 
in the town after so many ages. 

St. Victor itself remains to us now as the last relic 
of a very ancient and important monastery, founded by 
St. Cassian in the fifth century, and destroyed by the 
Saracens — those incessant scourges of the Provencal 
coast — during one of their frequent plundering incur- 
sions. In 1040 it was rebuilt, only to be once more razed 
to the ground, till, in 1350, Pope Urban V., who him- 
self had been abbot of this very monastery restored it 
from the base, with those high, square towers, which now, 
in their worn and battered solidity, give it rather the air 
of a castellated fortress than of a Christian temple. 
Doubtless the strong-handed Pope, warned by experience, 
intended his church to stand a siege, if necessary, on the 
next visit to Marseilles of the Paynim enemy. The in- 
terior, too, is not unworthy of notice. It contains the 
catacombs where, according to the naive Provencal faith, 
Lazarus passed the last days of his second life; and it 
boasts an antique black image of the Virgin, attributed by 
a veracious local legend to the skilful fingers of St. Luke 
the Evangelist. Modern criticism ruthlessly relegates the 
work to a nameless but considerably later Byzantine 
sculptor. 



NOTRE DAME DE LA GARDE 117 

By far the most interesting ecclesiastical edifice in 
Marseilles, however, even in its present charred and shat- 
tered condition, is the ancient pilgrimage chapel of Notre 
Dame de la Garde, the antique High Place of primitive 
Phoenician and Ligurian worship. E[ow long a shrine 
for some local cult has existed on the spot it would be 
hard to say, but, at least, we may put it at two dozen 
centuries. All along the Mediterranean coast, in fact, 
one feels oneself everywhere thus closely in almost con- 
tinuous contact with the earliest religious beliefs of the 
people. The paths that lead to these very antique sacred 
sites, crowning the wind-swept hills that overlook the 
valley, are uniformly worn deep by naked footsteps into 
the solid rock — a living record of countless generations of 
fervent worshipers. Christianity itself is not nearly old 
enough to account for all those profoundly-cut steps in 
the schistose slate or hard white limestone of the Pro- 
vengal hills. The sanctity of the High Places is more 
ancient by far than Saint or Madonna. Before ever a 
Christian chapel crested these heights they were crested 
by forgotten Pagan temples ; and before the days of 
Aphrodite or Pallas, in turn, they were crested by the 
shrines of some long since dead-and-buried Gaulish or 
Ligurian goddess. Religions change, creeds disappear, 
but sacred sites remain as holy as ever ; and here where 
priests now chant their loud hymns before the high altar, 
some nameless bloody rites took place, we may be sure, 
long ages since, before the lonely shrine of some Celtic 
Hesus or some hideous and deformed Phoenician Moloch. 

It is a steep climb even now from the Old Port or the 
Anse des Catalans to the Colline Notre Dame; several 
different paths ascend to the summit, all alike of re- 
mote antiquity, and all ending at last in fatiguing steps. 



ii8 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

Along the main road, hemmed in on either side by poor 
southern hovels, wondrous old witches of true Provencal 
ugliness drive a brisk trade in rosaries, and chaplets, and 
blessed medals. These wares are for the pilgrim; but 
to suit all tastes, the same itinerant chapwomen offer to 
the more worldly-minded tourist of the Cookian type 
appropriate gewgaws, in the shape of photographs, im- 
ages, and cheap trinkets. At the summit stand the charred 
and blackened ruins of Notre Dame de la Garde. Of 
late years, indeed, that immemorial shrine has fallen on 
evil times and evil days in many matters. To begin with, 
the needs of modern defence compelled the Government 
some years since to erect on the height a fort, which 
encloses in its midst the ancient chapel. Even military 
necessities, however, had to yield in part to the persistent 
religious sentiment of the community; and though forti- 
fications girt it round on every side, the sacred site of 
Our Lady remained unpolluted in the center of the great 
defensive works of the fortress. Passing through the 
gates of those massive bastions a strongly-guarded path 
still guided the faithful sailor-folk of Marseilles to the 
revered shrine of their ancestral Madonna. Nay, more; 
the antique chapel of the thirteenth century was super- 
seded by a goregous Byzantine building, from designs by 
Esperandieu, all glittering with gold, and precious stones, 
and jewels. On the topmost belfry stood a gigantic gilded 
statue of Our Lady. Dome and apse were of cunning 
workmanship — white Carrara marble and African rosso 
antico draped the interior with parti-colored splendor. 
Corsican granite and Esterel porphyry supported the 
massive beams of the transepts ; frescoes covered every 
inch of the walls : the pavement was mosaic, the high 
altar was inlaid with costly Florentine stonework. Ev^rv 



PANORAMIC VIEW 119 

Marseilles fisherman rejoiced in heart that though the 
men of battle had usurped the sanctuary, their Madonna 
was now housed by the sons of the Faithful in even 
greater magnificence and glory than ever. 

But in 1884 a fire broke out in the shrine itself, which 
wrecked almost irreparably the sumptuous edifice. The 
statue of the Virgin still crowns the facade, to be sure, 
and the chapel still shows up bravely from a modest dis- 
tance; but within, all the glory has faded away, and the 
interior of the church is no longer accessible. Neverthe- 
less, the visitor who stands upon the platform in front of 
the doorway and gazes down upon the splendid pano- 
ramic view that stretches before him in the vale beneath, 
will hardly complain of having had his stiff pull uphill 
for nothing. Except the view of Montreal and the St. 
Lawrence River from Mont Royal Mountain, I hardly 
know a town view in the world to equal that from Notre 
Dame de la Garde, for beauty and variety, on a clear 
spring morning. 

Close at our feet lies the city itself, filling up the whole 
wide valley with its mass, and spreading out long arms of 
faubourg, or roadway, up the lateral openings. Beyond 
rise the great white limestone hills, dotted about like mush- 
rooms, with their glittering bastides. In front lies the 
sea — the blue Mediterranean — with that treacherous 
smile which has so often deceived us all the day before we 
trusted ourselves too rashly, with ill-deserved confidence, 
upon its heaving bosom. Near the shore the waves chafe 
the islets and the Chateau d'lf; then come the Old Port 
and the busy bassins ; and, beyond them all, the Chain of 
Estaques, rising grim and gray in serrated outline against 
the western horizon. A beautiful prospect though barren 
and treeless, for nowhere in the world are mountains 



120 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

barer than those great white guardians of the Provengal 
seaboard. 

The fortress that overhangs the Old Port at our feet 
itself deserves a few passing words of polite notice; for 
it is the Fort St. Nicolas, the one link in his great de- 
spotic chain by which Louis Quatorze bound recalcitrant 
Marseilles to the throne of the Tuileries. The town — -like 
all great commercial towns — had always clung hard to 
its ancient liberties. Ever rebellious when kings op- 
pressed, it was a stronghold of the Fronde; and when 
Louis at last made his entry perforce into the malcontent 
city, it was through a breach he had effected in the 
heavy ramparts. The king stood upon this commanding 
spot, just above the harbor, and, gazing landward, asked 
the citizens round him how men called those little square 
boxes which he saw dotted about over the sunlit hillsides. 
" We call them hastides, sire," answered a courtly Mar- 
seillais. " Every citizen of our town has one." " Moi 
aussi, je veux avoir ma bastide a Marseille," cried the 
theatrical monarch, and straightway gave orders for 
building the Fort St. Nicolas : so runs the tale that passes 
for history. But as the fort stands in the very best pos- 
sible position, commanding the port, and could only have 
been arranged for after consultation with the engineers 
of the period — it was Vauban who planned it — I fear we 
must set down Louis's hon mot as one of those royal 
epigrams which has been carefully prepared and led up 
to beforehand. 

In every town, however, it is a favorite theory of mine 
that the best of all sights is the town itself: and no- 
v/here on earth is this truism truer than here at Marseilles. 
After one has climbed Notre Dame, and explored the 
Prado and smJled at the Chateau d'Eau and stood beneath 



GREEK INFLUENCE 121 

the frowning- towers of St. Victor, one returns once more 
with real pleasure and interest to the crowded Cannebiere 
and sees the full tide of human life flow eagerly on down 
that picturesque boulevard. That, after all, is the main 
picture that Marseilles always leaves photographed on 
the visitor's memory. How eager, how keen, how viva- 
cious is the talk; how fiery the eyes; how emphatic the 
gesture ! With what teeming energy, with what feverish 
haste, the great city pours forth its hurrying thousands ! 
With what endless spirit they move up and down in end- 
less march upon its clattering pavements ! Circulez, mes- 
sieurs, circules: and they do just circulate! From the 
Ouai de la Fraternite to the Alices de Meilhan, what 
mirth and merriment, what life and movement ! In every 
eafc, what warm southern faces! At every shop-door, 
what quick-witted, sharp-tongued, bartering humanity ! I 
have many times stopped at Marseilles, on my way hither 
and thither round this terraqueous globe, farther south or 
east; but I never stop there without feeling once more 
the charm and interest of its strenuous personality. There 
is something of Greek quickness and Greek intelligence 
left even now about the old Phocjean colony. A Marseil- 
lais crowd has to this very day something of the sharp 
Hellenic wit ; and I believe the rollicking humor of Aris- 
tophanes would be more readily seized by the public of 
the Alcazar than by any other popular audience in modern 
Europe. 

" Bon chien chasse de race," and every Marseillais is a 
born Greek and a born litterateur. Is it not partly to this 
old Greek blood, then, that we may set down the lono- list 
of distinguished men who have drawn their first breath 
in the Phocpean city? From the davs of the Troubadours, 
Raymond des Tours and Barral des Baux, Folquet, and 



122 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

Rostang, and De Salles, and Berenger, through the days 
of D'Urfe, and Mascaron, and Barbaroux, and De Pas- 
toret, to the days of Mery, and Barthelemy, and Taxile 
Delord, and Joseph Autran, Marseilles has always been 
rich in talent. It is enough to say that her list of great 
men begins with Petronius Arbiter, and ends with Thiers, 
to show how long and diversely she has been represented 
in her foremost citizens. Surely, then, it is not mere 
fancy to suppose that in all this the true Hellenic blood 
has counted for something! Surely it is not too much 
to believe that with the Greek profile and the Greek com- 
plexion the inhabitants have still preserved to this day 
some modest measure of the quick Greek intellect, the 
bright Greek fancy, and the plastic and artistic Greek 
creative faculty ! I love to think it, for Marseilles is dear 
to me; especially when I land there after a sound sea- 
tossing. 

Unlike many of the old Mediterranean towns, too, Mar- 
seilles has not only a past but also a future. She lives 
and will live. In the midde of the past century, indeed, it 
might almost have seemed to a careless observer as if the 
Mediterranean were " played out." And so in part, no 
doubt, it really is ; the tracks of commerce and of inter- 
national intercourse have shifted to wider seas and vaster 
waterways. We shall never again find that inland basin 
ringed round by a girdle of the great merchant cities that 
do the carrying trade and finance of the world. Our 
area has widened, so that New York, Rio, San Francisco, 
Yokohama, Shanghai, Calcutta, Bombay, and Melbourne 
have taken the place of Syracuse, Alexandria, Tyre, and 
Carthage, of Florence, Genoa, Venice, and Constanti- 
nople. But in spite of this cramping change, this degra- 
dation of the Mediterranean from the center of the world 



THE NEW MARSEILLES 123 

into a mere auxiliary or side-avenue of the Atlantic, a 
certain number of Mediterranean ports have lived on un- 
interruptedly by force of position from one epoch into the 
other. Venice has had its faint revival of recent years ; 
Trieste has had its rise; Barcelona, Algiers, Smyrna, 
Odessa, have grown into great harbors for cosmopolitan 
traffic. Of this new and rejuvenescent Mediterranean, 
girt round by the fresh young nationalities of Italy and 
the Orient, and itself no longer an inland sea, but linked 
by the Suez Canal with the Indian Ocean and so 
turned into the main highway of the nations between East 
and West, Marseilles is still the key and the capital. 
That proud position the Phocsean city is not likely to lose. 
And as the world is wider now than ever, the new Mar- 
seilles is perforce a greater and a wealthier town than 
even the old one in its proudest days. Where tribute 
came once from the North African, Levantine, and Italian 
coasts alone, it comes now from every shore of Europe, 
Asia, Africa, and America, with Australia and the Pacific 
Isles thrown in as an afterthought. Regions Caesar never 
knew enrich the good Greeks of the Quai de la Fra- 
ternite : brown, black, and yellow men whom his legions 
never saw send tea and silk, cotton, corn, and tobacco to 
the crowded warehouses of the Cannebiere and the Rue 
de la Republique. 



VI 

NICE 

The Qneen of the Riviera — The Port of Limpia— Castle Hill- 
Promenade des Anglais — The Carnival and Battle of Flowers 
— Place Massena, the center of business — Beauty of the 
suburbs — The road to Monte Carlo — The quaintly picturesque 
town of Villefranche — Aspects of Nice and its environs. 

WHO loves not Nice, knows it not. Who knows 
it, loves it. I admit it is windy, dusty, gusty. 
I allow it is meretricious, fashionable, vulgar. 
I grant its Carnival is a noisy orgy, its Promenade a meet- 
ing place for all the wealthiest idlers of Europe or 
America, and its clubs more desperate than Monte Carlo 
itself in their excessive devotion to games of hazard. 
And yet, with all its faults, I love it still. Yes, delib- 
erately love it ; for nothing that man has done or may ever 
do to mar its native beauty can possibly deface that 
beauty itself as God made it. Nay, more, just because it 
is Nice, we can readily pardon it these obvious faults and 
minor blemishes. The Queen of the Riviera, with all her 
coquettish little airs and graces, pleases none the less, like 
some proud and haughty girl in court costume, partly by 
reason of that very finery of silks and feathers which we 
half-heartedly deprecate. If she were not herself, she 
wouM be other than she is. Nice is Nice, and that is 
enough for us. 

124 



ITS SURROUNDINGS 125 

Was ever town more graciously set, indeed, in more 
gracious surroundings? Was ever pearl girt round with 
purer emeralds? On every side a vast semicircle of 
mountains hems it in, among which the bald and naked 
summit of the Mont Cau d'Aspremont towers highest and 
most conspicuous above its darkling compeers. In front 
the blue Mediterranean, that treacherous Mediterranean 
all guile and loveliness, smiles with myriad dimples to the 
clear-cut horizon. Eastward, the rocky promontories of 
the Alont Boron and the Cap Ferrat jut boldly out into 
the sea with their fringe of white dashing breakers. 
Westward, the longer and lower spit of the point of 
Antibes bounds the distant view, with the famous pil- 
grimage chapel of Notre Dame de la Garoupe just dimly 
visible on its highest knoll against the serrated ridge of 
the glorious Esterel in the background. In the midst of 
all nestles Nice itself, the central gem in that coronet of 
mountains. There are warmer and more sheltered nooks 
on the Riviera, I will allow : there can be none more 
beautiful. Mentone may surpass it in the charm of its 
mountain paths and innumerable excursions ; Cannes in 
the rich variety of its nearer walks and drives ; but for 
mingled glories of land and sea, art and nature, antiquity 
and novelty, picturesqueness and magnificence, Nice still 
stands without a single rival on all that enchanted coast 
that stretches its long array of cities and bays between 
Marseilles and Genoa. There are those, I know, who run 
down Nice as commonplace and vulgarized. But then, 
they can never have strayed one inch, I feel sure, from 
the palm-shaded trottoir of the Promenade des Anglais. 
If you want Italian medijevalism, go to the Old Town ; if 
you want quaint marine life, go to the good Greek port 
of Limpia ; if you want a grand view of sea and land and 



126 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

snow mountains in the distance, go to the Castle Hill; 
if you want the most magnificent panorama in the whole 
of Europe, go to the summit of the Corniche Road. No, 
no ; these brawlers disturb our pure worship. We have 
onl}^ one Nice, let us make the most of it. 

It is so easy to acquire a character for superiority by 
affecting to criticize what others admire. It is so easy 
to pronounce a place vulgar and uninteresting by taking 
care to see only the most vulgar and uninteresting parts 
of it. But the old Rivieran who knows his Nice well, 
and loves it dearly, is troubled rather by the opposite 
difficulty. Where there is so much to look at and so 
much to describe, where to begin? what to omit? how 
much to glide over? how much to insist upon? Lan- 
guage fails him to give a conception of this complex and 
polychromatic city in a few short pages to anyone who 
knows it by name alone as the cosmopolitan winter capital 
of fashionable seekers after health and pleasure. It is 
that, indeed, but it is so much more that one can never 
tell it. 

For there are at least three distinct Nices, Greek, 
Italian, French ; each of them beautiful in its own way, 
and each of them interesting for its own special features. 
To the extreme east, huddled in between the Mont Boron 
and the Castle Hill, lies the seafaring Greek town, the 
most primitive and original Nice of all ; the home of the 
fisher-folk and the petty coasting sailors ; the Nicjea of 
the old undaunted Phocsean colonists ; the Nizza di Mare 
of modern Italians ; the mediaeval city ; the birthplace of 
Garibaldi. Divided from this earliest Nice by the scarped 
rock on whose summit stood the chateau of the Middle 
Ages, the eighteenth century Italian town (the Old 
Town as tourists nowadays usually call it, the central 



THE PORT OF LIMPIA 127 

town of the three) occupies the space between the Castle 
Hill and the half dry bed of the Paillon torrent. Finally, 
west of the Paillon, again, the modern fashionable pleas- 
ure resort extends its long line of villas, hotels, and 
palaces in front of the sea to the little stream of the 
Magnan on the road to Cannes, and stretches back in 
endless boulevards and avenues and gardens to the 
smiling heights of Cimiez and Carabacel. Every one of 
these three towns, " in three different ages born," has 
its own special history and its own points of interest. 
Every one of them teems with natural beauty, with 
picturesque elements, and with varieties of life, hard in- 
deed to discover elsewhere. 

The usual guide-book way to attack Nice is, of course, 
the topsy-turvey one, to begin at the Haussmannised 
white facades of the Promenade des Anglais and work 
backwards gradually through the Old Town to the Port 
of Limpia and the original nucleus that surrounds its 
quays. I will venture, however, to disregard this time- 
honored but grossly unhistorical practice, and allow the 
reader and myself, for once in our lives, to " begin at the 
beginning." The Port of Limpia, then, is, of course, 
the natural starting point and prime original of the very 
oldest Nice. Hither, in the fifth century before the 
Christian era, the bold Phocsean settlers of Marseilles 
sent out a little colony, which landed in the tiny land- 
locked harbor and called the spot Nicaea (that is to say, 
the town of victory) in gratitude for their success against 
its rude Ligurian owners. For twenty-two centuries it 
has retained that name almost unchanged, now perhaps, 
the only memento still remaining of its Greek origin. 
During its flourishing days as a Flellenic city Nicaea 
ranked among the chief commercial entrepots of the 



128 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

Ligurian coast ; but when " the Province " fell at last into 
the hands of the Romans, and the dictator Csesar favored 
rather .the pretensions of Cemenelum or Cimiez on the 
hill-top in the rear, the town that clustered round the 
harbor of Limpia became for a time merel}^ the port of 
its more successful inland rival. Cimiez still possesses 
its fine ruined Roman amphitheater and baths, besides 
relics of temples and some other remains of the im- 
perial period ; but the " Quartier du Port," the ancient 
town of Nice itself, is almost destitute of any architectural 
signs of its antique greatness. 

Nevertheless, the quaint little seafaring village that 
clusters round the harbor, entirely cut off as it is by the 
ramping crags of the Castle Hill from its later repre- 
sentative, the Italianized Nice of the last century, may 
fairly claim to be the true Nice of history, the only spot 
that bore that name till the days of the Bourbons. Its 
annals are far too long and far too eventful to be nar- 
rated here in full. Goths, Burgundians, Lombards, and 
Franks disputed for it in turn, as the border fortress be- 
tween Gaul and Italy; and that familiar round v/hite 
bastion on the eastern face of the Castle Hill, now known 
to visitors as the Tour Bellanda, and included (such is 
fate!) as a modern belvedere in the grounds of the com- 
fortable Pension Suisse, was originally erected in the 
fifth century after Christ to protect the town from the 
attacks of these insatiable invaders. But Nice had its 
consolations, too, in these evil days, for when the Lom- 
bards at last reduced the hill fortress of Cimiez, the 
Roman town, its survivors took refuge from their con- 
querors in the city by the port, which thus became once 
more, by the fall of its rival, unquestioned mistress of 
the surrounding littoral. 



CASTLE HILL 129 

The after story of Nice is confused and confusing. 
Now a vassal of the Prankish kings ; now again a member 
of the Genoese league ; now engaged in a desperate con- 
flict with the piratical Saracens ; and now constituted into 
a little independent republic on the Italian model; Nizza 
struggled on against an adverse fate as a fighting-ground 
of the races, till it fell finally into the hands of the Counts 
of Savoy, to whom it owes whatever little still remains of 
the medijeval castle. Continually changing hands be- 
tween France and the kingdom of Sardinia in later days, 
it was ultimately made over to Napoleon III. by the 
Treaty of Villafranca, and is now completely and en- 
tirely Gallicized. The native dialect, however, remains 
even to the present day an intermediate form between 
Provengal and Italian, and is freely spoken (with more 
force than elegance) in the Old Town and around the 
enlarged modern basins of the Port of Limpia. Indeed, 
for frankness of expression and perfect absence of any 
false delicacy, the ladies of the real old Greek Nice sur- 
pass even their London compeers at Billingsgate. 

One of the most beautiful and unique features of Nice 
at the present day is the Castle Hill, a mass of soHd 
rearinpf rock, not unlike its namesake at Edinburgh in 
position, intervening between the Port and the eighteenth 
century town, to which latter I will in future alaide as the 
Italian city. It is a wonderful place, that Castle Hill — 
wonderful alike by nature, art, and history, and I fear I 
must also add at the same time " uglification." In earlier 
days it bore on its summit or slopes the chateau fort of 
the Counts of Provence with the old cathedral and arch- 
bishop's palace (now wholly destroyed), and the famous 
deep well, long ranked among the wonders of the world 
in the way of engineering. But military necessity knows 



I30 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

no law; the cathedral gave place in the fifteenth century 
to the bastions of the Duke of Savoy's new-fangled castle ; 
the castle itself in turn was mainly battered down in 1706 
by the Duke of Berwick; and of all its antiquities none 
now remain save the Tour Bellanda, in its degraded con- 
dition of belvedere, and the scanty ground-plan of the 
mediaeval buildings. 

Nevertheless, the Castle Hill is, still one of the loveliest 
and greenest spots in Nice. A good carriage road as- 
cends it to the top by leafy gradients, and leads to an 
open platform on the summit, now converted into charm- 
ing gardens, rich with palms and aloes and cactuses and 
bright southern flowers. On one side, alas! a painfully 
artificial cataract, fed from the overflow of the water- 
works, falls in stiff cascades among hand-built rockwork ; 
but even that impertinent addition to the handicraft of 
nature can hardly offend the visitor for long among such 
glorious surroundings. For the view from the summit 
is one of the grandest in all France. The eye ranges 
right and left over a mingled panorama of sea and moun- 
tains, scarcely to be equaled anywhere round the lovely 
Mediterranean, save on the Ligurian coast and the neigh- 
borhood of Sorrento. Southward lies the blue expanse 
of water itself, bounded only in very clear and cloudless 
weather by the distant peaks of Corsica on the doubtful 
horizon. Westward, the coast-line includes the promon- 
tory of Antibes, basking low on the sea, the lies Lerins 
near Cannes, the mouth of the Var, and the dim-jagged 
ridge of the purple Esterel. Eastward, the bluff head- 
land of the Mont Boron, grim and brown, blocks the 
view towards Italy. Close below the spectator's feet the 
three distinct towns of Nice gather round the Port and 
the two banks of the Paillon, spreading their garden 



RAUBA CAPEU 131 

suburbs, draped in roses and lemon groves, high up the 
spurs of the neighboring mountains. But northward a 
tumultuous sea of Alps rises billow-like to the sky, the 
nearer peaks frowning bare and rocky, while the more 
distant domes gleam white with virgin snow. It is a 
sight, once seen, never to be forgotten. One glances 
around entranced, and murmurs to oneself slowly, " It is 
good to be here." Below, the carriages are rolling like 
black specks along the crowded Promenade, and the band 
is playing gaily in the Public Garden ; but up there you 
look across to the eternal hills, and feel yourself face to 
face for one moment with the Eternities behind them. 

One may descend from the summit either by the ancient 
cemetery or by the Place Garibaldi, through bosky 
gardens of date-palm, fan-palm, and agave. Cool wind- 
ing alleys now replace the demolished ramparts, and 
lovely views open out on every side as we proceed over 
the immediate foreground. 

At the foot of the Castle Hill, a modern road hewn 
in the solid rock round the base of the seaward escarp- 
ment, connects the Greek with the Italian town. The 
angle where it turns the corner, bears on native lips the 
quaint Provencal or rather Nigois name of Raiiba Capeu 
or Rob-hat Point, from the common occurrence of sudden 
gusts of wind, which remove the unsuspecting Parisian 
headgear with effective rapidity, to the great joy of the 
observant gamins. Indeed, windiness is altogether the 
weak point of Nice, viewed as a health-resort; the town 
lies exposed in the open valley of the Paillon, down whose 
baking bed the mistral, that scourge of Provence, sweeps 
with violent force from the cold mountain-tops in the 
rear ; and so it cannot for a moment compete in point of 
climate with Cannes, Monte Carlo, Mentone or San 



132 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

Remo, backed up close behind by their guardian barrier 
of sheltering hilis. But not even the mistral can n:ake 
those who love Nice love her one atom the less. Her 
virtues are so many that a little wholesome bluster once 
in a while may surely be forgiven her. And yet the 
dust does certainly rise in clouds at times from the 
Promenade des Anglais. 

The Italian city, which succeeds next in order, is pic- 
turesque and old-fashioned, but is being daily trans- 
formed and Gallicized out of all knowledge by its modern 
French masters. It dates back mainly to the seventeenth 
and eighteenth centuries, when the population became too 
dense for the narrow limits of the small Greek town, and 
began to overflow, behind the Castle Hill, on to the eastern 
banks of the Paillon torrent. The sea-front in this 
quarter, now known as the Promenade du Midi, has been 
modernized into a mere eastward prolongation of the 
Promenade des Anglais, of which " more anon ; " but the 
remainder of the little triangular space between the Castle 
Hill and the river-bed still consists of funny narrow 
Italian lanes, dark, dense, and dingy, from whose midst 
rises the odd and tile-covered dome of the cathedral of St. 
Reparate. That was the whole of Nice as it lived and 
moved till the beginning of this century ; the real Nice 
of to-day, the Nice of the tourist, the invalid, and the 
fashionable world, the Nice that we all visit or talk about, 
is a purely modern accretion of some half-dozen decades. 

This wonderful modern town, with its stately sea- 
front, its noble quays, its dainty white villas, its magnifi- 
cent hotels, and its C?'"ino, owes its existence entirely to 
the vogue which the coast has acquired in our own times 
as a health-resort for consumptives. As long ago as 
Smollett's time, the author of " Roderick Random " re- 



PROMENADE DES ANGLAIS 133 

marks complacently that an acquaintance, " understand- 
ing I intended to winter in the South of France, strongly 
recommended the climate of Nice in Provence, which 
indeed I had often heard extolled," as well he might have 
done. But in those days visitors had to live in the narrow 
and dirty streets of the Italian town, whose picturesque- 
ness itself can hardly atone for their unwholesome air and 
their unsavory odors. It was not till the hard winters 
of 1822-23-24 that a few kind-hearted English residents, 
anxious to find work for the starving poor, began the con- 
struction of a sea-road beyond the Paillon, which still 
bears the name of the Promenade des Anglais. Nice 
may well commemorate their deed to this day, for to them 
she owes, as a watering-place her very existence. 

The western suburb, thus pushed beyond the bed of 
the boundary torrent, has gradually grown in wealth and 
prosperity till it now represents the actual living Nice 
of the tourist and the winter resident. But how to de- 
scribe that gay and beautiful city ; that vast agglomera- 
tion of villas, pensions, hotels, and clubs ; that endless 
array of sun-v\^orshipers gathered together to this temple 
of the sun from all the four quarters of the habitable 
globe? The sea- front consists of the Promenade des 
Anglais itself, which stretches in an unbroken line of 
white and glittering houses, most of them tasteless, but 
all splendid and all opulent, from the old bank of the 
Paillon to its sister torrent, the Magnan, some two miles 
away. On one side the villas front the shore with their 
fantastic facades ; on the other side a walk, overshadowed 
with date-palms and purple-ftowering judas-trees, lines 
the steep shingle beach of the tideless sea. 

There is one marked peculiarity of the Promenade des 
Anglais, however, which at once distinguishes it from 



134 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

any similar group of private houses to be found anywhere 
in England. There the British love of privacy, which 
has, of course, its good points, but has also its compen- 
sating disadvantages, leads almost every owner of beau- 
tiful grounds or gardens to enclose them with a high 
fence or with the hideous monstrosity known to suburban 
Londoners as " park paling." This plan, while it ensures 
complete seclusion for the fortunate few within, shuts out 
the deserving many outside from all participation in the 
beauty of the grounds or the natural scenery. On the 
Promenade des Anglais, on the contrary, a certain gen- 
erous spirit of emulation in contributing to the public en- 
joyment and the general effectiveness of the scene as a 
whole has prompted the owners of the villas along the 
sea-front to enclose their gardens only with low orna- 
mental balustrades or with a slight and unobtrusive iron 
fence, so that the passers-by can see freely into every one 
of them, and feast their eyes on the beautiful shrubs and 
flowers. The houses and grounds thus form a long line 
of delightful though undoubtedly garish and ornate dec- 
orations, in full face of the sea. The same plan has been 
adopted in the noble residential street known as Euclid 
Avenue at Cleveland, Ohio and in many other American 
cities. It is to be regretted that English tastes and habits 
do not oftener thus permit their wealthier classes to con- 
tribute, at no expense or trouble to themselves, to the 
general pleasure of less fortunate humanity. 

The Promenade is, of course, during the season the 
focus and center of fashionable life at Nice. Here car- 
riages roll, and amazons ride and flaneurs lounge in the 
warm sunshine during the livelong afternoon. In front 
are the baths, bathing being practicable at Nice from the 
beginning of March ; behind are the endless hotels and 



THE CARNIVAL 135 

clubs of this city of strangers. For the English are not 
alone on the Promenade des Anglais ; the American tongue 
is heard there quite as often as the British dialect, 
while Germans Russians, Poles, and Austrians cluster 
thick upon the shady seats beneath the planes and carob- 
trees. During the Carnival especially Nice resolves itself 
into one long orgy of frivolous amusement. Battles of 
flowers, battles of confetti, open-air masquerades, and 
universal tom-foolery pervade the place. Everybody vies 
with everybody else in making himself ridiculous ; and 
even the staid Briton, released from the restraints of home 
or the City, abandons himself contentedly for a week at 
a time to a sort of prolonged and glorified sunny southern 
Derby Day. Mr. Bultitude disguises himself as a French 
clown ; Mr. Dombey, in domino, flings roses at his friends 
on the seats of the tribune. Ever3^where is laughter, 
noise bustle, and turmoil; everywhere the manifold forms 
of antique saturnalian freedom, decked out with gay 
flowers or travestied in quaint clothing, but imported 
most incongruously for a week in the year into the midst 
of our modern work-a-day twentieth-century Europe. 

Only a comparatively few winters ago fashionable Nice 
consisted almost entirely of the Promenade des Anglais, 
with a few slight tags and appendages in either direction. 
At its eastern end stood (and still stands) the Jardin 
Public, that paradise of children and of be-ribboned 
French nursemaids, where the band discourses lively 
music every afternoon at four, and all the world sits 
round on two-sou chairs to let all the rest of the world 
see for itself it is still in evidence. These, and the stately 
quays along the Paillon bank, lined with shops where 
female human nature can buy all the tastiest and most 
expensive gewgaws in Europe, constituted the real Nice 



136 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

of the early eighties. But with the rapid growth of that 
general taste for more sumptuous architecture which 
marks our age, the Phocsean city woke up a few years 
since with electric energy to find itself in danger of being 
left behind by its younger competitors. So the Nigois 
conscript fathers put their wise heads together, in con- 
clave assembled, and resolved on a general transmogrifi- 
cation of the center of their town. By continuously bridg- 
ing and vaulting across the almost dry bed of the Paillon 
torrent they obtained a broad and central site for a new 
large garden, which now forms the natural focus of the 
transformed city. On the upper end of this important 
site they erected a large and handsome casino in the gor- 
geous style of the Third Republic, all glorious without and 
within, as the modern Frenchman understands such glory, 
and provided with a theater, a winter garden, restau- 
rants, cafes, ball-rooms, petits chevaux, and all the other 
most pressing requirements of an advanced civilization. 
But in doing this they sacrificed by the way the beautiful 
view towards the mountains behind, which can now only . 
be obtained from the Square Massena or the Pont Vieux 
farther up the river. Most visitors to Nice, however, 
care little for views, and a great deal for the fitful and 
fearsome joys embodied to their minds in the outward 
and visible form of a casino. 

This wholesale bridging over of the lower end of the 
Paillon has united the French and Italian towns and 
abolished the well-marked boundary line which once cut 
them off so conspicuously from one another. The inevi- 
table result has been that the Italian town too has under- 
gone a considerable modernization along the sea-front, 
so that the Promenade des Anglais and the Promenade 
du Midi now practically merge into one continuous 



THE PLACE MASSENA 137 

parade, and are lined along all their length with the same 
clipped palm-trees and the same magnificent white palatial 
buildings. When the old theater in the Italian town was 
burnt down in the famous and fatal conflagration some 
years since the municipality erected a new one on the 
same site in the most approved style of Parisian luxury. 
A little behind lie the Prefecture and the beautiful flower 
market, which no visitor to Nice should ever miss; for 
Nice is above all things, even more than Florence, a city 
of flowers. The sheltered quarter of the Ponchettes, 
lying close under the lee of the Castle Hill, has become 
of late, owing to these changes, a favorite resort for in- 
valids, who find here protection from the cutting winds 
which sweep with full force down the bare and open 
valley of the Paillon over the French town. 

I am loth to quit that beloved sea-front, on the 
whole the most charming marine parade in Europe, 
with the Villefranche point and the pseudo-Gothic, 
pseudo-Oriental monstrosity of Smith's Folly on one side 
and the delicious bay towards Antibes on the other. But 
there are yet various aspects of Nice which remain to be 
described: the interior is almost as lovely in its way as 
the coast that fringes it. For this inner Nice, the Place 
Massena, called (like the Place Garibaldi) after another 
distinguished native, forms the starting point and center. 
Here the trams from all quarters run together at last; 
hence the principal roads radiate in all directions. The 
Place Massena is the center of business, as the Jardin 
Public and the Casino are the centers of pleasure. Also 
(verbum sap.) it contains an excellent patisserie, where 
you can enjoy an ice or a little French pastry with less 
permanent harm to your constitution and morals than 
anywhere in Europe. Moreover, it forms the approach 



138 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

to the Avenue de la Gare, which divides with the Quays 
the honor of being the best shopping street in tlie most 
fashionable watering-place of the Mediterranean. If 
these delights thy soul may move, why, the Place Mas- 
sena is the exact spot to find them in. 

Other great boulevards, like the Boulevard Victor 
Hugo and the Boulevard Dubouchage, have been opened 
out of late years to let the surplus wealth that flows into 
Nice in one constant stream find room to build upon. 
Chateaux and gardens are springing up merrily on every 
side ; the slopes of the hills gleam gay with villas ; Cimiez 
and Carabacel, once separate villages, have now been 
united by continuous dwellings to the main town ; and 
before long the city where Garibaldi was born and where 
Gambetta lies buried will swallow up in itself the entire 
space of the valley, and its border spurs from mountain 
to mountain. The suburbs, indeed, are almost more 
lovely in their way than the town itself ; and as one 
wanders at will among the olive-clad hills to westward, 
looking down upon the green lemon-groves that encircle 
the villas, and the wealth of roses that drape their sides, 
one cannot wonder that Joseph de Maistre, another Nigois 
of distinction, in the long dark evenings he spent at St. 
Petersburg, should time and again have recalled with a 
sigh " ce doux vallon de Magnan." Nor have the Rus- 
sians themselves failed to appreciate the advantages of 
the change, for they flock by thousands to the Orthodox 
Quarter on the heights of Saint Philippe, which rings 
round the Greek chapel erected in memory of the Czare- 
witch Nicholas Alexandrowitch, who died at Nice in 
1865. 

After all, however, to the lover of the picturesque Nice 
town itself is but the threshold and starting point for that 



FALICON 139 

lovely country which spreads on all sides its endless ob- 
jects of interest and scenic beauty from Antibes to Men- 
tone. The excursions to be made from it in every direc- 
tion are simply endless. Close by lie the monastery and 
amphitheater of Cimiez ; the Italianesque cloisters and 
campanile of St. Pons ; the conspicuous observatory on 
the Mont Gros, with its grand Alpine views ; the hill- 
side promenades of Le Ray and Les Fontaines. Farther 
afield the carriage-road up the Paillon valley leads direct 
to St. Andre through a romantic limestone gorge, which 
terminates at last in a grotto and natural bridge, over- 
hung by the moldering remains of a most southern 
chateau. A little higher up, the steep mountain track 
takes one on to Falicon, perched " like an eagle's nest " 
on its panoramic hill-top, one of the most famous points 
of view among the Maritime Alps. The boundary hills 
of the Magnan, covered in spring with the purple flowers 
of the wild gladiolus ; the vine-clad heights of Le Bellet, 
looking down on the abrupt and rock-girt basin of the 
Var; the Valley of Hepaticas, carpeted in March with 
innumerable spring blossoms ; the longer drive to Contes. 
in the very heart of the mountains : all alike are lovely, 
and all alike tempt one to linger in their precincts among 
the shadow of the cypress trees or under the cool grottos 
green and lush with spreading fronds of wild maiden- 
hair. 

Among so many delicious excursions it were invidious 
to single out any for special praise ; yet there can be little 
doubt that the most popular, at least with the general 
throng of tourists, is the magnificent coast-road by Ville- 
franche (or Villafranca) to Monte Carlo and Monaco. 
This particular part of the coast, between Nice and Men- 
tone, is the one where the main range of the Maritime 



I40 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

Alps, abutting at last on the sea, tumbles over sheer with 
a precipitous descent from four thousand feet high to the 
level of the Mediterranean. Formerly, the barrier ridge 
could only be surmounted by the steep but glorious Cor- 
niche route ; of late years, however, the French engineers, 
most famous of road-makers, have hewn an admirable 
carriage-drive out of the naked rock, often through 
covered galleries or tunnels in the cliff itself, the whole 
way from Nice to Monte Carlo and Mentone. The older 
portion of this road, between Nice and Villefranche, falls 
well within the scope of our present subject. 

You leave modern Nice by the quays and the Pont 
Garibaldi, dash rapidly through the new broad streets 
that now intersect the Italian city, skirt the square basins 
lately added to the more shapeless ancient Greek port of 
Limpia, and begin to mount the first spurs of the Mont 
Boron among the villas and gardens of the Quartier du 
Lazaret. Banksia roses fall in cataracts over the walls 
as you go ; looking back, the lovely panorama of Nice 
opens out before your eyes. In the foreground, the 
rocky islets of La Reserve foam white with the perpetual 
plashing of that summer sea. In the middle distance, 
the old Greek harbor, with its mole and lighthouse, stands 
out against the steep rocks of the Castle Hill. The back- 
ground rises up in chain on chain of Alps, allowing just 
a glimpse at their base of that gay and fickle promenade 
and all the Parisian prettinesses of the new French town. 
The whole forms a wonderful picture of the varied Medi- 
terranean world. Greek, Roman, Italian, French, with the 
vine-clad hills and orange-groves behind merging slowly 
upward into the snow-bound Alps. 

Turning the corner of the Mont Boron by the gro- 
tesque vulgarisms of the Chateau Smith (a curious semi- 



VILLEFRANCHE 141 

oriental specimen of the shell-grotto order of architecture 
on a gigantic scale) a totally fresh view bursts upon our 
eyes of the Rade de Villefranche, that exquisite land- 
locked bay bounded on one side by the scarped crags of 
the Mont Boron itself, and on the other by the long and 
rocky peninsula of St. Jean, which terminates in the Cap 
Ferrat and the Villefranche light. The long deep bay 
forms a favorite roadstead and rendezvous for the French 
Mediterranean squadron, whose huge ironclad monsters 
may often be seen ploughing their way in single file from 
seaward round the projecting headlands, or basking at 
ease on the calm surface of that glassy pond. The sur- 
rounding heights, of course, bristle with fortifications, 
which, in these suspicious days of armed European ten- 
sion, the tourist and the sketcher are strictly prohibited 
from inspecting with too attentive an eye. The quaintly 
picturesque town of Villefranche itself, Italian and dirty, 
but amply redeemed by its slender bell-tower and its 
olive-clad terraces, nestles snugly at the very bottom of 
its pocket-like bay. The new road to Monte Carlo 
leaves it far below, with true modern contempt for mere 
old-world beauty ; the artist and the lover of nature will 
know better than to follow the example of those ruthless 
engineers; they will find many subjects for a sketch 
among those whitewashed walls, and many a rare sea- 
flower tucked away unseen among those crannied crags. 
And now, when all is said and done, I, who have 
known and loved Nice for so many bright winters, feel 
only too acutely how utterly I have failed to set before 
those of my readers who know it not the infinite charms 
of that gay and rose-wreathed queen of the smiling 
Riviera. For what words can paint the life and move- 
ment of the sparkling sea-front ? the manifold humors of 



142 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

the Jardin Public? the southern vivacity of the wrasher- 
women who pound their clothes with big stones in the 
dry bed of the pebbly Paillon? the luxuriant festoons of 
honeysuckle and mimosa that drape the trellis-work ar- 
cades of Carabacel and Cimiez? Who shall describe 
aright with one pen the gnarled olives of Beaulieu and 
the palace-like front of the Cercle de la Mediterranee? 
Who shall write with equal truth of the jewelers' shops 
on the quays, or the oriental bazaars of the Avenue, and 
of the dome after dome of bare mountain tops that rise 
ever in long perspective to the brilliant white summits 
of the great Alpine backbone? Who shall tell in one 
breath of the carmagnoles of the Carnival, or the dust- 
begrimed bouquets of the Battle of Flowers, and of the 
silent summits of the Mont Cau and the Cime de Vin- 
aigrier, or the vast and varied sea-view that bursts on 
the soul unawares from the Corniche near Eza? There 
are aspects of Nice and its environs which recall Bar- 
tholomew Fair, or the Champs filysees after a Sunday 
review ; and there are aspects which recall the prospect 
from some solemn summit of the Bernese Oberland, 
mixed with some heather-clad hill overlooking the green 
Atlantic among the Western Highlands. Yet all is so 
graciously touched and lighted with Mediterranean color 
and Mediterranean sunshine, that even in the midst of 
her wildest frolics you can seldom be seriously angry 
with Nice. The works of God's hand are never far off. 
You look up from the crowd of carriages and loungers 
on the Promenade des Anglais, and the Cap Ferrat rises 
bold and bluff before your eyes above the dashing white 
waves of the sky-blue sea : you cross the bridge behind 
the Casino amid the murmur of the quays, and the great 
bald mountains soar aloft to heaven above the brawkncf 



FLOWERS AND SUNSHINE 143 

valley of the snow-fed Paillon. It is a desecration, per- 
haps, but a desecration that leaves you still face to face 
with all that is purest and most beautiful in nature. 

And then, the flowers, the waves, the soft air, the sun- 
shine ! On the beach, between the bathing places, men 
are drying scented orange peel to manufacture perfumes : 
in the dusty high roads you catch whiffs as you pass of 
lemon blossom and gardenia : the very trade of the town 
is an expert trade in golden acacia and crimson anem- 
ones : the very gamins pelt you in the rough horse- 
play of the Carnival with sweet-smelling bunches of 
syringa and lilac. Luxury that elsewhere would move 
one to righteous wrath is here so democratic in its dis- 
play that one almost condones it. The gleaming white 
villas, with carved caryatides or sculptured porches of 
freestone nymphs, let the wayfarer revel as he goes in 
the riches of their shrubberies or their sunlit fountains 
and in the breezes that blow over their perfumed 
parterres. Nice vulgar! Pah, my friend, if you say so, 
I know well why. You have a vulgar soul that sees 
only the gewgaws and the painted ladies. You have 
never strolled up by yourself from the noise and dust 
of the crowded town to the free heights of the Mont 
Alban or the flowery olive-grounds of the Magnan 
valley. You have never hunted for purple hellebore 
among the gorges of the Paillon or picked orchids and 
irises in big handfuls upon the slopes of Saint Andre. 
I doubt even whether you have once turned aside for a 
moment from the gay crowd of the Casino and the 
Place Massena into the narrow streets of the Italian 
town ; communed in their own delicious dialect with the 
free fisherfolk of the Limpia quarter; or looked out with 
joy upon the tumbled plain of mountain heights from 



144 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

the breezy level of the Castle platform. Probably you 
have only sat for days in the balcony of your hotel, rolled 
at your ease down the afternoon Promenade, worn a 
false nose at the evening parade of the Carnival, or re- 
turned late at night by the last train from Monte Carlo 
with your pocket much lighter and your heart much 
heavier than when you left by the morning express in 
search of fortune. And then you say Nice is vulgar ! 
You have no eyes, it seems, for sea or shore, or sky, or 
mountain ; but you look down curiously at the dust in the 
street, and you mutter to yourself that you find it unin- 
teresting. When you go to Nice again, walk alone up 
the hills to Falicon, returning by Le Ray, and then say, 
if you dare, Nice is anything on earth but gloriously 
beautiful. 



VII 

THE RIVIERA 

In the days ol the Doges — Origin of the name — The blue bay of 
Cannes — Ste. Marguerite and St. Honorat — Historical asso- 
ciations — The Rue L'Antibes — The rock of Monaco — " Notre 
Dame de la Roulette " — From Monte Carlo to Mentone — 
San Remo — A romantic railway. 

tC^'"^!!, Land of Roses, what bulbul shall sing of 
■ JP thee? " In plain prose, how describe the gar- 
^<-^ den of Europe? The Riviera! Who knows, 
save he who has been there, the vague sense of delight 
which the very name recalls to the poor winter exile, 
banished by frost and cold from the fogs and bronchitis 
of more northern climes? What visions of gray olives, 
shimmering silvery in the breeze on terraced mountain 
slopes ! What cataracts of Marshal Niels, falling in rich 
profusion over gray limestone walls ! What aloes and 
cactuses on what sun-smitten rocks ! What picnics in 
December beneath what cloudless blue skies ! But to 
those who know and appreciate it best, the Riviera is 
something more than mere scenery and sunshine. It is 
life, it is health, it is strength, it is rejuvenescence. The 
return to it in autumn is as the renewal of youth. Its 
very faults are dear to us, for they are the defects of its 
virtues. We can put up with its dust when we remem- 
ber that dust means sun and dry air; we can forgive its 

145 



146 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

staring white roads when we reflect to ourselves that 
they depend upon ahnost unfaihng fine weather and 
bright, clear skies, when northern Europe is wrapped in 
fog and cold and wretchedness. 

And what is this Riviera that we feeble folk who 
" winter in the south " know and adore so well ? Has 
everybody been there, or may one venture even now to 
paint it in words once more for the twentieth time? 
Well, after all, how narrow is our conception of " every- 
body ! " I suppose one out of every thousand at a mod- 
erate estimate, has visited that smiling coast that spreads 
its entrancing bays between Marseilles and Genoa; my 
description is, therefore, primarily for the nine hundred 
and ninety-nine who have not been there. And even the 
thousandth himself, if he knows his Cannes and his Men- 
tone well, will not grudge me a reminiscence of those de- 
licious gulfs and those charming headlands that must be 
indelibly photographed on his memory. 

The name Riviera is now practically English. But in 
origin it is Genoese. To those seafaring folk, in the days 
of the Doges, the coasts to east and west of their own 
princely city were known, naturally enough, as the 
Riviera di Levante and the Riviera di Ponente respec- 
tively, the shores of the rising and the setting sun. But 
on English lips the qualifying clause " di Ponente " has 
gradually in usage dropped out altogether, and we speak 
nowadays of this favored winter resort, by a some- 
what illogical clipping, simply as " the Riviera." In our 
modern and specially English sense, then, the Riviera 
means the long and fertile strip of coast between the 
arid mountains and the Ligurian Sea, beginning at St. 
Raphael and ending at Genoa. Hyeres, it is true, is com- 
monly reckoned of late among Riviera towns, but by 



ANTIBES 147 

courtesy only. It lies, strictly speaking, outside the 
charmed circle. One may say that the Riviera, properly 
so called, has its origin where the Esterel abuts upon the 
Gulf of Frejus, and extends as far as the outliers of the 
Alps skirt the Italian shore of the Mediterranean. 

Now, the Riviera is just the point where the greatest 
central mountain system of all Europe topples over most 
directly into the warmest sea. And its best-known re- 
sorts, Nice, Monte Carlo, Mentone, occupy the precise 
place where the very axis of the ridge abuts at last on the 
shallow and basking Mediterranean. They are there- 
fore as favorably situated with regard to the mountain 
wall as Pallanza or Riva, with the further advantage of 
a more southern position and of a neighboring extent 
of sunny sea to warm them. The Maritime "Alps cut off 
all northerly winds; while the hot air of the desert, 
tempered by passing over a wide expanse of Mediterra- 
nean waves, arrives on the coast as a delicious breeze, 
no longer dry and relaxing, but at once genial and re- 
freshing. Add to these varied advantages the dryness 
of climate due to an essentially continental position (for 
the Mediterranean is after all a mere inland salt lake), 
and it is no wonder we all swear by the Riviera as the 
fairest and most pleasant of winter resorts. My own 
opinion remains always unshaken, that Antibes, for cli- 
mate, may fairly claim to rank as the best spot in Europe 
or round the shores of the Mediterranean. 

Not that I am by any means a bigoted Antipolitan. I 
have tried every other nook and cranny along that de- 
lightful coast, from Carqueyranne to Cornigliano. and I 
will allow that every one of them has for certain purposes 
its own special advantages. All, all are charming. In- 
deed, the Riviera is to my mind one long feast of de- 



148 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

lights. From the moment the railway strikes the sea 
near Frejus the traveller feels he can only do justice to 
the scenery on either side by looking both ways at once, 
and so " contracting a squint," like a sausage-seller in 
Aristophanes. Those glorious peaks of the Esterel alone 
would encourage the most prosaic to " drop into poetry, ' 
as readily as Mr. Silas Wegg himself in the mansion 
of the Boffins. How am I to describe them, those rear- 
ing masses of rock, huge tors of red porphyry, rising 
sheer into the air with their roseate crags from a deep 
green base of Aiediterranean pinewood? When the sun 
strikes their sides, they glow like fire. There they lie 
in their beauty, like a huge rock pushed out into the sea, 
the advance-guard of the Alps, unbroken save by the one 
high-road that runs boldly through their unpeopled midst, 
and by the timider railway that, fearing to tunnel their 
solid porphyry depths, winds cautiously round their base 
by the craggy sea-shore, and so gives us as we pass end- 
less lovely glimpses into sapphire bays with red cliflfs 
and rocky lighthouse-crowned islets. On the whole, 1 
consider the Esterel, as scenery alone, the loveliest " bit " 
on the whole Riviera ; though wanting in human addi- 
tions, as nature it is the best, the most varied in outline, 
the most vivid in coloring. 

Turning the corner by Agay, you come suddenly, all 
unawares, on the blue bay of Cannes, or rather on the 
Golfe de la Napoule, whose very name betrays unin- 
tentionally the intense newness and unexpectedness of all 
this populous coast, this " little England beyond France " 
that has grown up apace round Lord Brougham's villa on 
the shore by the mouth of the Siagne. For when the 
bay beside the Esterel received its present name, La Na- 
poule, not Cannes, was still the principal village on its 



ILES LERIXS 149 

bank. Xowadays, people drive over on a spare afternoon 
from the crowded fashionable town to the slumbrous 
little hamlet; but in older days La Xapoule w-as a busy 
local market when Cannes was nothing more than a petty 
hamlet of Provencal fishermen. 

The Golfe de la X'apoule ends at the Croisette of 
Cannes, a long, low promontory carried out into the sea 
by a submarine bank, whose farthest points re-emerge as 
the two lies Lerins, Ste. Marguerite and St. Honorat. 
Their names are famous in history. A little steamer 
plies from Cannes to " the Islands," as everybody calls 
them locally; and the trip, in calm weather, if the Alps 
are pleased to shine out, is a pleasant and instructive 
one. Ste. ^Marguerite lies somevrhat the nearer of the 
two, a pretty little islet, covered with a thick grow'th of 
maritime pines, and celebrated as the prison of that mys- 
terious being, the ^Man with the Iron Mask, who has 
given rise to so much foolish and fruitless speculation. 
Near the landing-piace stands the Fort, perched on a high 
cliff and looking across to the Croisette. Uninteresting 
in itself, this old fortification is much visited by wonder- 
loving tourists for the sake of its famous prisoner, whose 
memory still haunts the narrow terrace corridor, where 
he paced up and dow-n for seventeen years of unrelieved 
captivit}'. 

St. Honorat stands farther out to sea than its sister 
island, and, though lower and flatter, is in some ways 
more picturesque, in virtue of its massive mediaeval 
monastery and its historical associations. In the early 
middle ages, w^hen communications were still largely 
carried on by water, the convent of the lies Lerins en- 
joyed much reputation as a favorite stopping-place, one 
might almost say hotel, for pilgrims to or from Rome; 



I50 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

and most of the early British Christians in their con- 
tinental wanderings found shelter at one time or another 
under its hospitable roof. St. Augustine stopped here on 
his way to Canterbury ; St. Patrick took the convent on 
his road from Ireland ; Salvian wrote within its walls his 
dismal jeremiad; Vincent de Lerins composed in it his 
" Pilgrim's Guide." The somber vaults of the ancient 
cloister still bear witness by their astonishingly thick 
and solid masonry to their double use as monastery and 
as place of refuge from the " Saracens," the Barbary 
corsairs of the ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries. In- 
deed, Paynim fleets plundered the place more than once, 
and massacred the monks in cold blood. 

Of Cannes itself, marvelous product of this gad-about 
and commercial age, how shall the truthful chronicler 
speak with becoming respect and becoming dignity? For 
Cannes has its faults. Truly a wonderful place is that 
cosmopolitan winter resort. Rococo chateaux, glorious 
gardens of palm-trees, imitation Moorish villas, wooden 
chalets from the scene-painter's ideal Switzerland, Eliza- 
bethan mansions stuck in Italian grounds, lovely groves 
of mimosa, eucalyptus, and judas-trees, all mingle to- 
gether in so strange and incongruous a picture that one 
knows not when to laugh, when to weep, when to ad- 
mire, when to cry " Out on it ! " Imagine a conglomer- 
ation of two or three white-faced Parisian streets, inter- 
spersed with little bits of England, of Brussels, of Al- 
giers, of Constantinople, of Pekin, of Bern, of Nurem- 
berg and of Venice, jumbled side by side on a green Pro- 
vengal hillside before a beautiful bay, and you get mod- 
ern Cannes ; a Babel set in Paradise ; a sort of houlevar- 
dier Bond Street, with a view across blue waves to the 
serrated peaks of the ever lovely Esterel. Nay; try as it 



CANNES 151 

will, Cannes cannot help being beautiful. Nature has 
done so much for it that art itself, the debased French 
art of the Empire and the Republic, can never for one 
moment succeed in making it ugly; though I am bound 
to admit it has striven as hard as it knew for that laudable 
object. But Cannes is Cannes still, in spite of Grand 
Dukes and landscape gardeners and architects. And the 
Old Town, at least, is yet wholly unspoilt by the specu- 
lative builder. Almost every Riviera watering-place has 
such an old-world nucleus or kernel of its own, the quaint 
fisher village of ancient days, round which the meretri- 
cious modern villas have clustered, one by one, in irregu- 
lar succession. At Cannes the Old Town is even more 
conspicuous than elsewhere ; for it clambers up the steep 
sides of a little seaward hillock, crowned by the tower of 
an eleventh century church, and is as picturesque, as 
gray, as dirty, as most other haunts of the hardy Pro- 
vencal fisherman. Strange, too, to see how the two 
streams of life flow on ever, side by side, yet ever un- 
mingled. The Cannes of the fishermen is to this day as 
unvaried as if the new cosmopolitan winter resort had 
never grown up, with its Anglo-Russian airs and graces, 
its German-American frivolities, round that unpromising 
center. 

The Rue d'Antibes is the principal shopping street of 
the newer and richer Cannes. If we follow it out into the 
country by its straight French boulevard it leads us at 
last to the funny old border city from which it still takes 
its unpretending name. Antibes itself belongs to that 
very first crop of civilized Provengal towns which owe 
their origin to the sturdy old Phoc?ean colonists. It is a 
Greek city by descent, the Antipolis which faced and de- 
fended the harbor of Nicasa ; and for picturesqueness 



152 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

and beauty it has not its equal on the whole picturesque 
and beautiful Riviera. Everybody who has travelled by 
the " Paris, Lyon, Mediterranee " knows well the ex- 
quisite view of the mole and harbor as seen in passing 
from the railway. But that charming glimpse, quaint and 
varied as it is, gives by no means a full idea of the ancient 
Phoceean city. The town stands still surrounded by its 
bristling fortification, the work of Vauban, pierced by 
narrow gates in their thickness, and topped with noble 
ramparts. The Fort Carre that crowns the seaward pro- 
montory, the rocky islets, and the two stone breakwaters 
of the port (a small-scale Genoa), all add to the strik- 
ing effect of the situation and prospect. Within, the 
place is as quaint and curious as without : a labyrinth of 
narrow streets, poor in memorials of Antipolis, but rich 
in Roman remains, including that famous and pathetic 
inscription to the boy Septentrio, ovi antipoli in thea- 
TRO BiDVO SALTAViT ET PLACViT. The last three words 
borrowed from this provincial tombstone, have become 
proverbial of the short-lived glory of the actor's art. 

The general aspect of Antibes town, however, is at 
present mediseval, or even seventeenth century. A fla- 
vor as of Louis Quatorze pervades the whole city, with 
its obtrusive military air of a border fortress ; for, of 
course, while the Var still formed the frontier between 
France and Italy, Antibes ranked necessarily as a stra- 
tegic post of immense importance; and at the present 
day, in our new recrudescence of military barbarism, great 
barracks surround the fortifications with fresh white- 
washed walls, and the "Hun! Deusse!" of the noisy 
French drill-sergeant resounds all day long from the ex- 
ercise-ground by the railway station. Antibes itself is 
therefore by no means a place to stop at; it is the Cap 



MONACO AND MONTE CARLO 153 

d'Antibes close by that attracts now every year an increas- 
ing influx of peaceful and cultivated visitors. The walks 
and drives are charming; the pine-woods, carpeted with 
wild anemones, are a dream of delight ; and the view 
from the Lighthouse Hill behind the town is one of the 
loveliest and most varied on the whole round Mediter- 
ranean. 

But I must not linger here over the beauties of the Cap 
d'Antibes, but must be pushing onwards towards Mona- 
co and Monte Carlo. 

It is a wonderful spot, this little principality of Mo- 
naco, hemmed in between the high mountains and the 
assailing sea, and long hermetically cut off from all its 
more powerful and commercial neighbors. Between the 
palm-lined boulevards of Nice and the grand amphi- 
theater of mountains that shuts in Mentone as with a 
perfect semicircle of rearing peaks, one rugged buttress, 
the last long subsiding spur ot the great Alpine axis, runs 
boldly out to seaward, and ends in the bluff rocky head- 
land of the Tete de Chien that overhangs Monte Carlo. 
Till very lately no road ever succeeded in turning the 
foot of that precipitous promontory : the famous Corniche 
route runs along a ledge high up its beetling side, past the 
massive Roman ruin of Turbia, and looks down from a 
height of fifteen hundred feet upon the palace of Mona- 
co. This mountain bulwark of the Turbia long formed 
the real boundary line between ancient Gaul and Liguria ; 
and on its very summit, where the narrow Roman road 
wound along the steep pass now widened into the mag- 
nificent highway of the Corniche, Augustus built a solid 
square monument to mark the limit between the Prov- 
ince and the Italian soil, as well as to overawe the 
mountaineers of this turbulent region. A round me- 



154 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

diieval tower, at present likewise in ruins, crowns the 
Roman work. Here the Alps end abruptly. The rock 
of Monaco at the base is their last ineffectual seaward 
protest. 

And what a rock it is, that quaint ridge of land, 
crowned by the strange capital of that miniature princi- 
pality ! Figure to yourself a huge whale petrified, as he 
basks there on the shoals his back rising some two 
hundred feet from the water's edge, his head to the sea, 
and his tail just touching the mainland, and you have 
a rough mental picture of the Rock of Monaco. It is, 
in fact, an isolated hillock, jutting into the Mediterranean 
at the foot of the Maritime Alps (a final reminder, as 
it were, of their dying dignity), and united to the Under- 
cliff only by a narrow isthmus at the foot of the crag 
which bears the mediaeval bastions of the Prince's palace. 
As you look down on it from above from the heights of 
the Corniche, I have no hesitation in saying it forms the 
most picturesque town site in all Europe. On every side, 
save seaward, huge mountains gird it round; while 
towards the smiling blue Mediterranean itself the great 
rock runs outward, bathed by tiny white breakers in 
every part, except where the low isthmus links it to the 
shore; and with a good field-glass you can see down 
in a bird's eye view into every street and courtyard of 
the clean little capital. The red-tiled houses, the white 
palace with its orderly gardens and quadrangles, the 
round lunettes of the old wall, the steep cobbled mule- 
path which mounts the rock from the modern railway- 
station, all lie spread out before one like a pictorial map, 
painted in the bright blue of Mediterranean seas, the 
dazzling gray of Mediterranean sunshine, and the bril- 
liant russet of Mediterranean roofs. 



THE CASINO 155 

There can be no question at all that Monte Carlo even 
now, with all its gew-gaw additions, is very beautiful: 
no Haussmann could spoil so much loveliness of posi- 
tion ; and even the new town itself, which grows apace 
each time I revisit it, has a picturesqueness of hardy 
arch, bold rock, well-perched villa, which redeems it to 
a great extent from any rash charge of common vul- 
garity. All looks like a scene in a theater, not like a 
prosaic bit of this work-a-day world of ours. Around 
us is the blue Mediterranean, broken into a hundred petty 
sapphire bays. Back of us rise tier after tier of Maritime 
Alps, their huge summits clouded in a fleecy mist. To 
the left stands the white rock of Monaco; to the right, 
the green Italian shore, fading away into the purple 
mountains that guard the Gulf of Genoa. Lovely by 
nature, the immediate neighborhood of the Casino has 
been made in some ways still more lovely by art. From 
the water's edge, terraces of tropical vegetation succeed 
one another in gradual steps towards the grand fagade 
of the gambling-house ; clusters of palms and aloes, their 
base girt by exotic flowers, are thrust cunningly into the 
foreground of every point in the view, so that you see 
the bay and the mountains through the artistic vistas 
thus deftly arranged in the very spots where a painter's 
fancy would have set them. You look across to Monaco 
past a clump of drooping date-branches ; you catch a 
glimpse of Bordighera through a framework of spread- 
ing dracc-enas and quaintly symmetrical fan-palms. 

Once more under way, and this time on foot. For 
the road from Monte Carlo to Mentone is almost as 
lovely in its way as that from Nice to Monte Carlo. It 
runs at first among the ever-increasing villas and hotels 
of the capital of Chance, and past that sumptuous 



156 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

church, built from the gains of the table, which native 
wit has not inaptly christened " Notre Dame de la Rou- 
lette." There is one point of view of Monaco and its 
bay, on the slopes of the Cap Martin, not far from Roque- 
brune, so beautiful that though I have seen it, 1 sup- 
pose, a hundred times or more, I can never come upon it 
to this day without giving vent to an involuntary cry 
of surprise and admiration. 

Roquebrune itself, which was an Italian Roccabruna 
when I first knew it, has a quaint situation of its own, 
and a cjuaint story connected with it. Brown as its own 
rocks, the tumbled little village stands oddly jumbled in 
and out among huge masses of pudding-stone, which 
must have fallen at some time or other in headlong con- 
fusion from the scarred face of the neighboring hill- 
side. From the Corniche road it is still quite easy to 
recognize the bare patch on the mountain slope whence 
the landslip detached itself, and to trace its path down 
the hill to its existing position. But local legend goes a 
little farther than that : it asks us to believe that the rock 
fell as we see it ivith the houses on top; in other words, 
that the village was built before the catastrophe took 
place, and that it glided down piecemeal into the tossed- 
about form it at present presents to us. Be this as it 
may, and the story makes some demand on the hearer's 
credulity, it is certain that the houses now occupy most 
picturesque positions : here perched by twos and threes 
on broken masses of conglomerate, there wedged in be- 
tween two great walls of beetling cliff, and yonder again 
hanging for dear life to some slender foothold on the 
precipitous hillside. 

We reach the summit of the pass. The Bay of Monaco 
is separated from the Bay of Mentone by the long, lev/ 



MENTONE 157 

headland of Cap Martin, covered with oHve groves and 
scrubby maritime pines. As one turns the corner from 
Roquebrune by the col round the cliff, there bursts sud- 
denly upon the view one of the loveliest prospects to be 
beheld from the Corniche. At our feet, embowered 
among green lemons and orange trees, Mentone half 
hides itself behind its villas and its gardens. In the 
middle distance the old church with its tall Italian cam- 
panile stands out against the blue peaks of that magnifi- 
cent amphitheater. Beyond, again, a narrow gorge marks 
the site of the Pont St. Louis and the Italian frontier. 
Farther eastward the red rocks merge half indistinctly 
into the point of La Mortola, with Mr. Hanbury's 
famous garden ; then come the cliffs and fortifications of 
Ventimiglia, gleaming white in the sun; and last of all, 
the purple hills that hem in San Remo. It is an appro- 
priate approach to a most lovely spot ; for Mentone 
ranks high for beauty, even among her bevy of fair 
sisters on the Ligurian sea-board. 

Yes, Mentone is beautiful, most undeniably beautiful ; 
and for walks and drives perhaps it may bear away the 
palm from all rivals on that enchanted and enchanting 
Riviera. Five separate valleys, each carved out by its 
own torrent, with dry winter bed, converge upon the sea 
within the town precincts. Four principal rocky ridges 
divide these valleys with their chine-like backbone, be- 
sides numberless minor spurs branching laterally inland. 
Each valley is threaded by a well-made carriage-road, 
and each dividing ridge is climbed by a bridle-path and 
footway. The consequence is that the walks and drives 
at Mentone are never exhausted, and excursions among 
the hills might occupy the industrious pedestrian for 
many successive winters. What hills they are, too, those 



158 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

great bare needles and pinnacles of rock, worn into 
jagged peaks and points by the ceaseless rain of ages, 
and looking down from their inaccessible tops with glit- 
tering scorn upon the green lemon groves beneath them ! 

The next town on the hne, Bordighera, is better known 
to the world at large as a Rivieran winter resort, though 
of a milder and Cjuieter type, I do not say than Nice 
or Cannes, but than Mentone or San Remo. Bordighera, 
indeed, has just reached that pleasant intermediate stage 
in the evolution of a Rivieran watering-place when all 
positive needs of the northern stranger are amply sup- 
plied, while crowds and fashionable amusements have 
not yet begun to invade its primitive simplicity. The 
walks and drives on every side are charming ; the hotels 
are comfortable, and the prices are still by no means 
prohibitive. 

San Remo comes next in order of the cosmopolitan 
winter resorts : San Remo, thickly strewn with spectacled 
Germans, like leaves in Vallombrosa, since the Emperor 
Frederick chose the place for his last despairing rally. 
The Teuton finds himself more at home, indeed, across 
the friendly Italian border than in hostile France ; and the 
St. Gotthard gives him easy access by a pleasant route 
to these nearer Ligurian towns, so that the Fatherland 
has now almost annexed San Remo, as England has 
annexed Cannes, and America Nice and Cimiez. Built 
in the evil days of the Middle Ages, when every house 
was a fortress and every breeze bore a Saracen, San 
Remo presents to-day a picturesque labyrinth of streets, 
lanes, vaults, and alleys, only to be surpassed in the 
quaint neighboring village of Taggia. This is the heart 
of the earthquake region, too; and to protect themselves 
against that frequent and unwelcome visitor, whose mark 



SAN REMO 



159 



may be seen on half the walls in the outskirts, the in- 
habitants of San Remo have strengthened their houses 
by a system of arches thrown at varying heights across 
the tangled paths, which recalls Algiers or Tunis. From 
certain points of view, and especially from the east side, 
San Remo thus resembles a huge pyramid of solid ma- 
sonry, or a monstrous pagoda hewn out by giant hands 
from a block of white free-stone. As Dickens well 
worded it, one seems to pass through the town by going 
perpetually from cellar to cellar. A romantic railway 
skirts the coast from San Remo to Alassio and Savona, 
It forms one long succession of tunnels, interspersed with 
frequent breathing spaces beside lovely bays, " the pea- 
cock's neck in hue," as the Laureate sings of them. One 
town after another sweeps gradually into view round 
the corner of a promontory, a white mass of houses 
crowning some steep point of rock, of which Alassio 
alone has as yet any pretensions to be considered a home 
for northern visitors. 



VIII 
GENOA 

Early history — Old fortifications — The rival of Venice — Changes 
of twenty-five years— From the parapet of the Corso — l"he 
lower town — The Genoese palazzi — Monument to Christopher 
Columbus — The old Dogana — Memorials in the Campo Santo 
— The Bay of Spezzia— The Isola Palmeria — Harbor scenes. 

GENOVA LA SUPERBA— Genoa the Proud— 
an epithet not inappropriate for this city of 
merchant princes of olden days, which was once 
the emporium of the Tyrrhenian, as was Venice of the 
Adriatic sea, and the rival of the latter for the com- 
merce of the Eastern Mediterranean. No two cities, 
adapted to play a similar part in history, could be more 
unlike in their natural environments : Venice clustered 
on a series of mud banks, parted by an expanse of water 
from a low coast-line, beyond which the far-away moun- 
tains rise dimly in the distance, a fleet, as it were, of 
houses anchored in the shallows of the Adriatic; Genoa 
stretching along the shore by the deepening water, at the 
very feet of the Apennines, climbing up their slopes, and 
crowning their' lower summits with its watch-towers. No 
seaport in Italy possesses a site so rich in natural beauty, 
not even Spezzia in its bay, for though the scenery in the 
neighborhood certainly surpasses that around Genoa, 
the town itself is built upon an almost level plain; not 

i6o 



LIGURIA i6i 

even Naples itself, notwithstanding the magnificent sweep 
of its bay, dommated by the volcanic cone of Vesuvius, 
and bounded by the limestone crags of the range of Monte 
S. Angelo. Genoa, however, like all places and persons, 
has had its detractors. Perhaps of no town has a more 
bitter sarcasm been uttered, than the well known one, 
which no doubt originated in the mouth of some envious 
Tuscan, when the two peoples were contending for the 
mastery of the western sea, and the maker of the epigram 
was on the losing side. Familiar as it is tO' many, we 
will venture to quote it again, as it may be rendered in 
our own tongue : " Treeless hills, a Ashless sea, faithless 
men, shameless women." As to the reproach in the first 
clause, one must admit there is still some truth ; and in 
olden days, when gardens were fewer and more land was 
left in its natural condition, there may have been even 
more point. The hills around Genoa undoubtedly seem 
a little barren, when compared with those on the Riviera 
some miles farther to the south, with their extraordinary 
luxuriance of vegetation, their endless slopes of olives, 
which only cease to give place to oak and pine and myrtle. 
There is also, I believe, some truth in the second clause ; 
but as to the rest it is not for a comparative stranger 
to express an opinion. So far however as the men are 
concerned the reproach is not novel. Centuries since, 
Liguria, of which Genoa is the principal town, was noted 
for the cunning and treacherous disposition of its peo- 
ple, who ethnologicallv differ considerably from their 
neighbors. In Virgil's " ^neid " a Ligurian chief shows 
more cunning than courage in a fight with an Amazon, 
and is thus apostrophized before receiving his death-blow 
from a woman's hand : " In vain, O shifty one, hast thou 
tried thy hereditary craft." The people of this part of 



i62 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

Italy form one of a series of ethnological islands ; where 
a remnant, by no means inconsiderable, of an earlier 
race has survived the invading flood of a stronger people. 
This old-world race — commonly called the Iberian — is 
characteristically short in stature, dark in hair, eyes, and 
complexion. Representatives of it survive in Brittany, 
Wales, Ireland, the Basque Provinces, and other out-of- 
the-way corners of Europe ; insulated or pressed back, till 
they could no farther go, by the advance of the Aryan 
race, by some or other representative of which Europe 
is now peopled. On the Ligurian coast, however, as 
might be expected, in the track of two thousand years 
of commerce and civilization, the races, however difTerent 
in origin and formerly naturally hostile, have been almost 
fused together by intermarriage ; and this, at any rate 
in Genoa, seems to have had a fortuitous result in the 
production of an exceptionally good-looking people, espe- 
cially in the case of the younger women. I well remember 
some years since, when driving out on a summer evening 
on the western side of Genoa, to have passed crowds of 
women, most of them young, returning from work in 
the factories, and certainly I never saw so large a pro- 
portion of beautiful faces as there were among them. 

Genoa for at least two thousand years has been an 
important center of commerce ; though, of course, like 
most other places, it has not been uniformly prosperous. 
It fell under the Roman power about two centuries be- 
fore the Christian era, the possession of it for a time 
being disputed with the Carthaginians ; then it became 
noted as a seaport town for the commerce of the western 
part of the Mediterranean, it declined and suffered dur- 
ing the decadence and fall of the Empire, and then grad- 
ually rose into eminence during the Middle Ages. Even 



EARLY HISTORY 163 

in the tenth century Genoa was an important community ; 
its citizens, as beseemed men who were hardy sailors, 
found a natural pleasure in any kind of disturbance ; they 
joined in the Crusades, and turned religious enthusiasm 
to commercial profit by the acquisition of various towns 
and islands in the East. The rather unusual combination 
of warrior and merchant, which the Genoese of the Middle 
Ages present, is no doubt due not only to social char- 
acter, but also to exceptional circumstances. '' The con- 
stant invasions of the Saracens united the professions of 
trade and war, and its greatest merchants became also its 
greatest generals, while its naval captains were also 
merchants." 

Genoa, as may be supposed, had from the first to con- 
tend with two formidable rivals : the one being Pisa in 
its own waters ; the other Venice, whose citizens were 
equally anxious for supremacy in the Levant and the 
commerce of the East. With both these places the 
struggle was long and fierce, but the fortune of war on 
the whole was distinctly favorable to Genoa nearer home, 
and unfavorable in regard to the more distant foe. Pisa 
was finally defeated in the neighborhood of Leghorn, and 
in the year 1300 had to cede to her enemy a considerable 
amount of territory, including the island of Corsica; 
while Venice, after more than a century of conflict with 
very varying fortune, at last succeeded in obtaining the 
supremacy in the Eastern Mediterranean. 

The internal history of the city during all this period 
was not more peaceful than its external. Genoa presents 
the picture of a house divided against itself; and, strange 
to say, falsifies the proverb by prospering instead of 
perishing. If there were com.monly wars without, there 
were yet more persistent factions within. Guelphs, headed 



i64 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

by the families of Grimaldi and Fieschi, and Ghibellines, 
by those of Spinola and Doria, indulged in faction-fights 
and sometimes in civil warfare, until at last some ap- 
proach to peace was procured by the influence of Andrea 
Doria, who, in obtaining the freedom of the state from 
French control, brought about the adoption of most im- 
portant constitutional changes, which tended to obliterate 
the old and sharply divided party lines. Yet even he 
narrowly escaped overthrow from a conspiracy, headed 
by one of the Fieschi ; his great-nephew and heir was 
assassinated, and his ultimate triumph was due rather to 
a fortunate accident, which removed from the scene the 
leader of his opponents, than to his personal power. Then 
the tide of prosperity began to turn against the Genoese. 
The Turk made himself master of their lands and cities 
in the East. Venice ousted them from the commerce 
of the Levant. War arose with France, and the city 
itself was captured by that power in the year 1684. The 
following century was far from being a prosperous time 
for Genoa, and near the close it opened its gates to the 
Republican troops, a subjugation which ultimately re- 
sulted in no little suffering to the inhabitants. 

Genoa at that time was encircled on the land side by 
a double line of fortifications, a considerable portion of 
which still remains. The outer one, with its associated 
detached forts, mounted up the inland slopes to an eleva- 
tion of some hundreds of feet above the sea, and within 
this is an inner line of much greater antiquity. As it 
was for those days a place of exceptional strength, its 
capture became of the first importance, in the great 
struggle between France and Austria, as a preliminary to 
driving the Republican troops out of Italy. The city 
was defended by the French under the command of 



MASSENA 165 

Massena; it was attacked on the land side by the Im- 
periaHst force, while it was blockaded from the sea by 
the British fleet. After fifteen days of hard fighting 
among the neighboring Apennines, Massena was finally 
shut up in the city. No less desperate fighting followed 
around the walls, until at last the defending force was 
so weakened by its losses that further aggressive opera- 
tions became impossible on its part, and the siege was 
converted into a blockade. The results were famine and 
pestilence. A hundred thousand persons were cooped 
up within the walls. " From the commencement of the 
siege the price of provisions had been extravagantly high, 
and in its latter days grain of any sort could not be had 
at any cost. . . . The neighboring rocks within 
the walls were covered with a famished crowd, seeking, 
in the vilest animals and the smallest traces of vegetation, 
the means of assuaging their intolerable pangs. . . . 
In the general agony, not only leather and skins of every 
kind were consumed, but the horror at human flesh was 
so much abated that numbers were supported on the 
dead bodies of their fellow citizens. Pestilence, as usual, 
came in the rear of famine, and contagious fevers swept 
off multitudes, whom the strength of the survivors was 
unable to inter." Before the obstinate defense was ended, 
and Massena, at the end of all his resources, was com- 
pelled to capitulate on honorable terms, twenty thousand 
of the inhabitants had perished from hunger or disease. 
The end of this terrible struggle brought little profit to 
the conquerors, for before long the battle of Marengo, 
and the subsequent successes of Napoleon in Northern 
Italy, led to the city being again surrendered to the 
French. It had to endure another siege at the end of 
Napoleon's career, for in 18 14 it was attacked by Eng- 



i66 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

lish troops under Lord William Bentinck. Fortunately 
for the inhabitants, the French commander decided to 
surrender after a few days' severe struggle around the 
outer defenses. On the settlement of European affairs 
which succeeded the final fall of Napoleon, Genoa was 
annexed to the kingdom of Sardinia, and now forms 
part of united Italy; though, it is said, the old instincts 
of the people give them a theoretic preference for a re- 
publican form of government. 

Genoa, like so many of the chief Italian towns, has 
been greatly altered during the last twenty-five years. 
Its harbors have been much enlarged ; its defenses have 
been extended far beyond their ancient limits. Down by 
the water-side, among the narrow streets on the shelving 
ground that fringes the sea, we are still in old Genoa — 
the city of the merchant princes of the fifteenth and six- 
teenth centuries ; but higher up the slopes a new town 
has sprung up, with broad streets and fine modern houses, 
and a " corso," bordered by trees and mansions, still re- 
tains in its zigzag outline the trace of the old fortifica- 
tions which enclosed the arm of Massena. More than one 
spot, on or near this elevated road, commands a splendid 
outlook over the city and neighborhood. 

From such a position the natural advantages of the 
site of Genoa, the geographical conditions which have 
almost inevitably determined its history, can be appre- 
hended at a glance. Behind us rise steeply, as has been 
already said, the hills forming the southernmost zone of 
the Apennines. This, no doubt, is a defect in a military 
point of view, because the city is commanded by so many 
positions of greater elevation ; but this defect was less 
serious in ancient days, when the range of ordnance was 
comparatively short; while the difficulty of access which 



MOLO VECCHIC 167 

these positions presented, and the obvStacles which 
the mountain barrier of the Apennines offered to 
the advance of an enemy from the comparatively 
distant plains of Piedmont, rendered the city far 
more secure than it may at first sight have appeared. 
Beneath us lies a deeply recessed bay, in outline like the 
half of an egg-, guarded on the east by a projecting 
shoulder ; while on the western side hills descend, at first 
rapidly, then more gently, to a point which projects yet 
farther to the south. This eastern shoulder is converted 
into a kind of peninsula, rudely triangular in shape, by 
the valley of the Bisagno, a stream of considerable size 
which thus forms a natural moat for the fortifications 
on the eastern side of the town. In a bay thus sheltered 
on three sides by land, vessels were perfectly safe from 
most of the prevalent winds ; and it was only necessary 
to carry out moles from the western headland and from 
some point on the eastern shore, to protect them also 
from storms which might blow from the south. The 
first defense was run out from the latter side, and still 
bears the name of the Molo Vecchio ; then the port was 
enlarged, by carrying out another mole from the end of 
the western headland ; this has been greatly extended, so 
that the town may now be said to possess an inner and 
an outer harbor. From the parapet of the Corso these 
topographical facts are seen at a glance, as we look over 
the tall and densely-massed houses to the busy quays, 
and the ships which are moored alongside. Such a scene 
cannot fail to be attractive, and the lighthouse, rising 
high above the western headland, is less monotonous in 
outline than is usual with such buildings, and greatly 
enhances the effect of the picture. The city, however, 
when regarded from this elevated position is rather want- 



i68 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

ing in variety. We look down over a crowded mass of 
lofty houses, from which, indeed, two or three domes 
or towers rise up ; but there is not enough diversity in 
the design of the one, or a sufficiently marked pre-emi- 
nence in the others, to afford a prospect which is com- 
parable with that of many other ancient cities. Still some 
variety is given by the trees, which here and there, 
especially towards the eastern promontory, are inter- 
spersed among the houses ; while the Ligurian coast on 
the one hand, and the distant summits of the Maritime 
Alps on the other, add to the scene a never-failing charm. 
Of the newer part of the town little more need be said. 
It is like the most modern part of any Continental city, 
and only differs from the majority of these by the nat- 
ural steepness and irregularity of the site. In Genoa, 
except for a narrow space along the shore, one can hardly 
find a plot of level ground. Now that the old limits of 
the enceinte have been passed, it is still growing up- 
wards ; but beyond and above the farthest houses the hills 
are still crowned by fortresses, keeping watch and ward 
over the merchant city. These, of course, are of modern 
date; but some of them have been reconstructed on the 
ancient sites, and still encrust, as can be seen at a glance, 
towers and walls which did their duty in the olden times. 
For a season, indeed, there was more to be protected 
than merchandise, for, till lately, Genoa was the prin- 
cipal arsenal of the Italian kingdom ; but this has now 
been removed to Spezzia. Italy, however, does not seem 
to feel much confidence in that immunity from plunder 
which has been sometimes accorded to " open towns," 
or in the platitudes of peace-mongers ; and appears to 
take ample precautions that an enemy in command of the 
sea shall not thrust his hand into a full purse without a 



THE LOWER TOWN 169 

good chance of getting nothing better than crushed 
fingers. 

But in the lower town we are still in the Genoa of the 
olden time. There is not, indeed, very much to recall 
the city of the more strictly mediaeval epoch ; though two 
churches date from days before the so-called " Re- 
naissance," and are good examples of its work. Most of 
what we now see belongs to the Genoa of the sixteenth 
century ; or, at any rate, is but little anterior in age to 
this. The lower town, however, even where its build- 
ings are comparatively modern, still retains in plan — in 
its narrow, sometimes irregular, streets ; in its yet nar- 
rower alleys, leading by flights of steps up the steep 
hill side ; in its crowded, lofty houses ; in its " huddled 
up " aspect, for perhaps no single term can better ex- 
press our meaning — the characteristics of an ancient 
Italian town. In its streets even the summer sun — let 
the proverb concerning the absence of the sun and the 
presence of the doctor say what it may — can seldom 
scorch, and the bitter north wind loses its force among 
the maze of buildings. Open spaces of any kind are 
rare ; the streets, in consequence of their narrowness, are 
unusually thronged, and thus produce the idea of a teem- 
ing population ; which, indeed, owing to the general lofti- 
ness of the houses, is large in proportion to the area. 
They are accordingly ill-adapted for the requirements of 
modern traffic. 

Genoa, like Venice, is noted for its pala.'yz} — for the 
sumptuous dwellings inhabited by the burgher aristo- 
cracy of earlier days, which are still, in not a few cases, 
in posession of their descendants. But in style and in 
position nothing can be more different. We do not refer 
to the obvious distinction that in the one city the highway 



I70 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

is water, in the other it is dry land; or to the fact that 
buildings in the so-called Gothic style are common in 
Venice, but are not to be found among the mansions of 
Genoa. It is rather to this, that the Via Nuova, which in 
this respect holds the same place in Genoa as the Grand 
Canal does in Venice, is such a complete contrast to it, 
that they must be compared by their opposites. The 
latter is a broad and magnificient highway, affording a 
full view and a comprehensive survey of the stately 
buildings which rise from its margin. The former is a 
narrow street, corresponding in dimensions with one of 
the less important among the side canals in the other 
city. It is thus almost impossible to obtain any good 
idea of the fagade of the Genoese palazzi. The passing 
traveller has about as much chance of doing this as he 
would have of studying the architecture of Mincing 
Lane; and even if he could discover a quiet time, like 
Sunday morning in the City, he would still have to 
strain his neck by staring upwards at the overhanging 
mass of masonry, and find a complete view of any one 
building almost impossible. But so far as these palazzi 
can be seen, how far do they repay examination? It is a 
common-place with travellers to expatiate on the mag- 
nificence of the Via Nuova, and one or two other streets 
in Genoa. There is an imposing magniloquence in the 
word palazzo, and a " street of palaces " is a formula 
which impels many minds to render instant homage. 

But, speaking for myself, I must own to being no 
great admirer of this part of Genoa; to me the design 
of these palazzi appears often heavy and oppressive. 
They are sumptuous rather than dignified, and impress 
one more with the length of the purse at the architect's 
command than with the quality of his genius or the 



ITS PALAZZI 171 

fecundity of his conceptions. No doubt there are some 
fine buildings — the Palazzo Spinola, the Palazzo Doria 
Tursi, the Palazzo del' Universita, and the Pallazzo Balbi, 
are among those most generally praised. But if I must 
tell the plain, unvarnished truth, I never felt and never 
shall feel much enthusiasm for the " city of palaces." 
It has been some relief to me to find that I am not alone 
in this heresy, as it will appear to some. For on turning 
to the pages of Fergusson,* immediately after penning 
the above confession, I read for the first time the fol- 
lowing passage (and it must be admitted that, though 
not free from occasional " cranks " as to archaeological 
questions, he was a critic of extensive knowledge and no 
mean authority) : — " When Venice adopted the Renais- 
sance style, she used it with an aristocratic elegance that 
relieves even its most fantastic forms in the worst age. 
In Genoa there is a pretentious parvenu vulgarity, which 
offends in spite of considerable architectural merit. Their 
size, their grandeur, and their grouping may force us to 
admire the palaces of Genoa ; but for real beauty or 
architectural propriety of design they will not stand a 
moment's comparison with the contemporary or earlier 
palaces of Florence, Rome, or Venice." Farther on he 
adds very truly, after glancing at the rather illegitimate 
device by which the fagades have been rendered more 
effective by the use of paint, instead of natural color in the 
materials employed, as in the older buildings of Venice, he 
adds : — " By far the most beautiful feature of the greater 
palaces of Genoa is their courtyards " (a feature obviously 
which can only make its full appeal to a comparatively 
limited number of visitors), " though these, architecturally^ 
consist of nothing but ranges of arcades, resting on atten- 

* History of Modern Architecture. 



172 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

uated Doric pillars. These are generally of marble, 
sometimes grouped in pairs, and too frequently with a 
block of an entablature over each, under the springing 
of the arch; but notwithstanding these defects, a clois- 
tered court is always and inevitably pleasing, and if com- 
bined with gardens and scenery beyond, which is gen- 
erally the case in this city, the effect, as seen from the 
streets, is so poetic as h^ disarm criticism. All that dare 
be said is that, beautiful as they are, with a little more 
taste and judgment they might have been ten times more 
so than they are now." 

Several of these palazzi contain pictures and art- 
collections of considerable value, and the interest of those 
has perhaps enhanced the admiration which they have 
excited in visitors. One of the most noteworthy is the 
Palazzo Brignole Sale, commonly called the Palazzo 
Rosso, because its exterior is painted red. This has 
now become a memorial of the munificence of its former 
owner, the Duchess of Galliera, a member of the Brig- 
nole Sale family, who, with the consent of her husband 
and relations, in the year 1874 presented this palace 
and its contents to the city of Genoa, with a revenue 
sufficient for its maintenance. The Palazzo Reale, in the 
Via Balbi, is one of those where the garden adds a charm 
to an otherwise not very striking, though large, edifice. 
This, formerly the propert}^ of the Durazzo family, was 
purchased by Charles Albert, King of Sardinia, and has 
thus become a royal residence. The Palazzo Ducale, 
once inhabited by the Doges of Genoa, has now been 
converted into public offices, and the palazzo opposite 
to the Church of St. Matteo bears an inscription which 
of itself gives the building an exceptional interest : 
" Senat. Cons. Andrea; de Oria, patriae liberatori, munus 



ANDREA DORIA 173 

publicum." It is this, the earUer home of the great citi- 
zen of Genoa, of which Rogers has written in the often- 
quoted lines : — 

" He left it for a better ; and 'tis now 
A house of trade, the meanest merchandise 
Cumbering its floors. Yet, fallen as it is, 
'Tis still the noblest dwelling — even in Genoa ! 
And hadst thou, Andrea, lived there to the last, 
Thou hadst done well : for there is that without, 
That in the wall, which monarchs could not give 
Nor thou take with thee — that which says aloud, 
It was thy country's gift to her deliverer ! " 

The great statesman lies in the neighboring church, 
with other members of his family, and over the high altar 
hangs the sword which was given to him by the Pope. 
The church was greatly altered — embellished it was 
doubtless supposed — by Doria himself; but the old clois- 
ters, dating from the earliest part of the fourteenth cen- 
tury, still remain intact. The grander palazzo which he 
erected, as an inscription outside still informs us, was in 
a more open, and doubtless then more attractive, part of 
the city. In the days of Doria it stood in ample gardens, 
which extended on one side down to a terrace overlook- 
ing the harbor, on the other some distance up the hillside. 
From the back of the palace an elaborate structure of 
ascending flight of steps in stone led up to a white marble 
colossal statue of Hercules, which from this elevated po- 
sition seemed to keep watch over the home of the Dorias 
and the port of Genoa. All this is sadly changed; the 
admiral would now find little pleasure in his once stately 
home. It occupies a kind of peninsula between two 
streams of twentieth-century civilization. Between the 
terrace wall and the sea the railway connecting the harbor 



174 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

with the main line has intervened, with its iron tracks, 
its sheds, and its shunting-places — a dreary unsightly 
outlook, for the adjuncts of a terminus are usually among 
the most ugly appendages of civilization. The terraced 
staircase on the opposite side of the palace has been 
swept away by the main line of the railway, which passes 
within a few yards of its fagade, thus severing the gar- 
dens and isolating the shrine of Hercules, who looks 
down forlornly' on the result of labors which even he 
might have deemed arduous, while snorting, squealing 
engines pass and repass — beasts which to him would have 
seemed more formidable than Lernsean hydra or Nemean 
lion. 

The palace follows the usual Genoese rule of turning 
the better side inwards, and offering the less attractive 
to the world at large. The landward side, which bor- 
ders a narrow street, and thus, one would conjecture, 
must from the first have been connected with the upper 
gardens by a bridge, or underground passage, is plain, 
almost heavy, in its design, but it does not rise to so 
great an elevation as is customary with the palazzi in 
the heart of the city. The side which is turned towards 
the sea is a much more attractive composition, for it is 
associated with the usual cloister or loggia which occu- 
pies three sides of an oblong. This, as the ground 
slopes seawards, though on the level of the street out- 
side, stands upon a basement story, and communicates 
by flights of steps with the lower gardens. The latter 
are comparatively small, and in no way remarkable ; but 
in the days — not so very distant — when their terraces 
looked down upon the Mediterranean, when the city and 
its trade were on a smaller scale, when the picture'^que 
side of labor had not yet been extruded by the dust and 



THE DORIA PALACE 175 

grime of over-much toil, no place in Genoa could have 
been more pleasant for the evening stroll, or for dreamy 
repose in some shaded nook during the heat of the day. 
The palazzo itself shows signs of neglect — the family, 
I believe, have for some time past ceased to use it for a 
residence; two or three roomys are still retained in their 
original condition, but the greater part of the building 
is let ofif. In the corridor, near the entrance, members 
of the Doria family, dressed in classic garb, in conformity 
with the taste which prevailed in the sixteenth century, 
are depicted in fresco upon the walls. On the roof of 
the grand saloon Jupiter is engaged in overthrowing 
the Titans. These frescoes are the work of Perini del 
Vaga, a pupil of Raphael. The great admiral, the 
builder of the palace, is represented among the figures 
in the corridor, and by an oil painting in the saloon, 
which contains some remains of sumptuous furniture 
and a few ornaments of interest. He was a burly man, 
with a grave, square, powerful face, such a one as often 
looks out at us from the canvas of Titian or of Tintoret 
— a man of kindly nature, but masterful withal ; cautious 
and thoughtful, but a man of action more than of the 
the schools or of the library ; one little likely to be swayed 
by passing impulse or transient emotion, but clear and 
firm of purpose, who meant to attain his end were it 
in mortal to command success, and could watch and 
wait for the time. Such men, if one may trust portraits 
and trust history, were not uncommon in the great epoch 
when Europe was shaking itself free from the fetters of 
mediaeval influences, and wa^ enlarging its mental no 
less than its physical horizon. Such men are the makers 
of nations, and not only of their own fortunes ; they be- 
come rarer in the days of frothy stump oratory and 



176 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

hysteric sentiment, when a people babbles as it sinks into 
senile decrepitude. 

Andrea Doria himself — " II principe " as he was styled 
— had a long and in some respects a checkered career. 
In his earlier life he obtained distinction as a successful 
naval commander, and in the curious complications which 
prevailed in those days among the Italian States and their 
neighbors ultimately became Admiral of the French fleet. 
But he found that Genoa would obtain little good from 
the French King, who was then practically its master; 
so he transferred his allegiance to the Emperor Charles, 
and by his aid expelled from his native city the troops 
with which he had formerly served. So great was his 
influence in Genoa that he might easily have obtained 
supreme power ; but at this, like a true patriot, he did not 
grasp, and the Constitution, which was adopted under 
his influence, gradually put an end to the bitter party 
strife which had for so long been the plague of Genoa, 
and it remained in force until the French Revolution. 
Still, notwithstanding the gratitude generally felt for his 
great services to the State, he experienced in his long 
life — for he died at the age of ninety-two — the change- 
fulness of human affairs. He had no son, and his heir 
and grand-nephew — a young man — was unpopular, and, 
as is often the case, the sapling was altogether inferior in 
character to the withering tree. The members of an- 
other great family — the Fieschi — entered into a con- 
spiracy, and collected a body of armed men on the 
pretext of an expedition against the corsairs who for 
so long were the pests of the Mediterranean. The out- 
break was well planned ; on New Year's night, in the year 
1547, the chief posts in the city were seized. Doria him- 
self was just warned in time, and escaped capture; but 



CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS 177 

his heir was assassinated, and his enemies seemed to have 
triumphed. But their success was changed to failure by 
an accident. Count Fiescho in passing along a plank to a 
galley in the harbor made a false step, and fell into the 
sea. In those days the wearing of armor added to the 
perils of the deep ; the count sank like a stone, and so left 
the conspirators without a leader exactly at the most 
critical moment. They were thus before long defeated 
and dispersed, and had to experience the truth of the 
proverb, " Who breaks pays," for in those days men felt 
little sentimental tenderness for leaders of sedition and 
disturbers of the established order. The Fieschi were 
exiled, and their palace was razed to the ground. So the 
old admiral returned to his home and his terrace-walk 
overlooking the sea, until at last his long life ended, and 
they buried him with his fathers in the Church of S. 
Matteo. 

Not far from the Doria Palace is the memorial to an- 
other admiral, of fame more world-wide than that of 
Doria. In the open space before the railway station — 
a building, the fagade of which is not without architec- 
tural merit — rises a handsome monument in honor of 
Christopher Columbus. He was not strictly a native of 
the city, but he was certainly born on Genoese soil, and, 
as it seems to be now agreed, at Cogoleto, a small village 
a few miles west of the city. He was not, however, able 
to convince the leaders of his own State that there were 
wide parts of the world yet to be discovered ; and it is 
a well-known story how for a long time he preached to 
deaf ears, and found, like most heralds of startling 
physical facts, his most obstinate opponents among the 
ecclesiastics of his day. Spain at last, after Genoa and 
Portugal and England had all refused, placed Columbus 



178 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

in command of a voyage of discovery ; and on Spanish 
ground also — in neglect and comparative poverty, worn 
out by toil and anxieties — the great explorer ended his 
checkered career. Genoa, however, though inattentive 
to the comparatively obscure enthusiast, has not failed to 
pay honor to the successful discoverer; and is glad to 
catch some reflected light from the splendor of successes 
to the aid of which she did not contribute. In this re- 
spect, however, the rest of the world cannot take up 
their parable at her ; men generally find that on the whole 
it is less expensive, and certainly less troublesome, to 
build the tombs of the prophets, instead of honoring them 
while alive ; then, indeed, whether bread be asked or no, a 
stone is often given. So now the effigy of Columbus 
stands on high among exotic plants, where all the world 
can see, for it is the first thing encountered by the traveller 
as he quits the railway station. 

One of the most characteristic — if not one of the 
sweetest — places in Genoa is the long street, which, under 
more than one name, intervenes between the last row of 
houses in the town and the harbor. From the latter it 
is, indeed, divided by a line of offices and arched halls ; 
these are covered by a terrace-roof and serve various 
purposes more or less directly connected with the ship- 
ping. The front walls of houses which rise high on the 
landward side are supported by rude arches. Thus, as 
is so common in Italian towns, there is a broad foot-walk, 
protected alike from sun and rain, replacing the " ground- 
floor front," with dark shops at the back, and stalls, for 
the sale of all sorts of odds and ends, pitched in the 
spaces between the arches. In many towns these arcades 
are often among the most ornamental features ; but in 
Genoa, though not without a certain quaintness, they are 



THE OLD DOGANA 179 

so rude in design and construction that they hardly de- 
serve this title. The old Dogana, one of the buildings 
in the street, gives a good idea of the commercial part of 
Genoa before the days of steam, and has a considerable 
interest of its own. In the first place, it is a standing 
memorial of the bitter feud between Genoa and Venice, 
for it is built with the stones of a castle which, being 
cpptured by the one from the other, was pulled down and 
shipped to Genoa in the year 1262. Again, within its 
walis was the Banca di San Georgio, which had its origin 
in a municipal debt incurred in order to equip an ex- 
pedition to stop the forays of a family named Grimaldi, 
who had formed a sort of Cave of Adullam at Monaco. 
The institution afterwards prospered, and held in trust 
most of the funds for charitable purposes, till " the 
French passed their sponge over the accounts, and ruined 
all the individuals in the community." It has also an 
indirect connection with English history, for on the de- 
feat of the Grimaldi many of their retainers entered the 
service of France, and were the Genoese bowmen who 
fought at Cressy. Lastly, against its walls the captured 
chains of the harbor of Pisa were suspended for nearly 
six centuries, for they were only restored to their former 
owners a comparatively few years since. 

Turning up from this part of the city we thread nar- 
row streets, in which many of the principal shops are still 
located. We pass, in a busy piazza, the Loggia del 
Banchi Borsa — the old exchange — a quaint structure of 
the end of the sixteenth century, standing on a raised 
platform ; and proceed from it into the Via degli Oreiici — 
a street just like one of the lanes which lead from Cheap- 
side to Cannon Street, if, indeed, it be not still narrower, 
but full of tempting shops. Genoa is noted for its work 



i8o THE MEDITERRANEAN 

in coral and precious metals, but the most characteristic, 
as all visitors know, is a kind of filigree work in gold or 
silver, which is often of great delicacy and beauty, and is 
by no means so costly as might be anticipated from the 
elaborate workmanship. 

The most notable building in Genoa, anterior to the 
days when the architecture of the Renaissance was in 
favor, is the cathedral, which is dedicated to S. Lorenzo. 
The western fagade, which is approached by a broad 
flight of steps, is the best exposed to view, the rest of the 
building being shut in rather closely after the usual 
Genoese fashion. It is built of alternating courses of 
black and white marble, the only materials employed for 
mural decoration, so far as I remember, in the city. 
The western facade in its lower part is a fine example 
of " pointed " work, consisting of a triple portal which, 
for elegance of design and richness of ornamentation, 
could not readily be excelled. It dates from about the 
year 1307, when the cathedral was almost rebuilt. The 
latter, as a whole, is a very composite structure, for parts 
of an earlier Romanesque cathedral still remain, as in the 
fine " marble " columns of the nave ; and important al- 
terations were made at a much later date. These, to 
which belongs the mean clerestory, painted in stripes of 
black and white, to resemble the banded courses of stone 
below, are generally most unsatisfactory ; and here, as in 
so many other buildings, one is compelled, however re- 
luctantly, " to bless the old and ban the new." The most 
richly decorated portion of the interior is the side chapel, 
constructed at the end of the fifteenth century, and dedi- 
cated to St. John the Baptist; here his relics are en- 
shrined for the reverence of the faithful and, as the 
guide-books inform us, are placed in a magnificent silver- 



THE SACRO CATINO 



i8i 



gilt shrine, which is carried in solemn procession on the 
day of his nativity. We are also informed that women, 
as a stigma for the part which the sex played in the 
Baptist's murder, are only permitted to enter the chapel 
once in a year. This is not by any means the only case 
where the Church of Rome gives practical expression to 
its decided view as to which is the superior sex. The 
cathedral possesses another great, though now unhappily 
mutilated, treasure in the sacro catino. This, in the first 
place, was long supposed to have been carved from a 
single emerald; in the next, it was a relic of great an- 
tiquity and much sanctity ; though as to its precise claims 
to honor in this respect authorities differed. According 
to one, it had been a gift from the Queen of Sheba to 
Solomon; according to another, it had contained the 
paschal lamb at the Last Supper; while a third asserted 
that in this dish Joseph of Arimathea had caught the 
blood which flowed from the pierced side of the crucified 
Saviour. Of its great antiquity there can at least be 
no doubt, for it was taken by the Genoese when they 
plundered Csesarea so long since as the year iioi, and 
was then esteemed the most precious thing in the spoil. 
The material is a green glass — a conclusion once deemed 
so heretical that any experiment on the catino was for- 
bidden on pain of death. As regards its- former use, no 
more can be said than that it might possibly be as old 
as the Christian era. It is almost needless to say that 
Napoleon carried it away to Paris ; but the worst result 
of this robbery was that when restitution was made after 
the second occupation of that city, the catino, through 
some gross carelessness, was so badly packed that it was 
broken on the journey back, and has been pieced to- 
gether by a gold-setting of filigree, according to the 



i82 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

guide-books. An inscription in the nave supplies us with 
an interesting fact in the early history of Genoa which 
perhaps ought not to be omitted. It is that the city 
was founded by one Janus, a great grandson of Noah ; 
and that another Janus, after the fall of Troy, also settled 
in it. Colonists from that ill-fated town really seem to 
have distributed themselves pretty well over the known 
world. 

More than one of the smaller churches of Genoa is of 
archaeological interest, and the more modern fabric, 
called L'Annunziata, is extremely rich in its internal 
decorations, though these are more remarkable for their 
sumptuousness than for their good taste. But one struc- 
ture calls for some notice in any account of the city. 
This is the Campo Santo, or burial-place of Genoa, sit- 
uated at some distance without the walls in the Valley of 
tiie Bisagno. A large tract of land on the slope which 
forms the right bank of that stream has been converted 
into a cemetery, and was laid out on its present plan 
rather more than twenty-five years since. Extensive 
open spaces are enclosed within and divided by corridors 
with cloisters ; terraces also, connected by flights of steps, 
lead up to a long range of buildings situated some dis- 
tance above the river, in the center of which is a chapel 
crowned with a dome, supported internally by large 
columns of polished black Como marble. The bodies of 
the poorer people are buried in the usual way in the open 
ground of the cemetery, and the. floor of the corridors 
appears to cover a continuous series of vaults, closed, as 
formerly in our churches, with great slabs of stone; but 
a very large number of the dead rest above the ground in 
vaults constructed on a plan which has evidently been 
borrowed from catacombs like those of Rome. There is, 



THE CAMPO SANTO 183 

however, this difference, that in the latter the " loctiH," 
or separate compartments to contain the corpses, were 
excavated in the rock, while here they are constructed 
entirely of masonry. In both cases the " loculus " is 
placed with its longer axis parallel to the outer side, as 
was occasionally the method in the rock-hewn tombs of 
Palestine, instead of having an opening at the narrower 
end, so that the corpse, whether coffined or not, lies in the 
position of a sleeper in the berth of a ship. After a 
burial, the loculus, as in the catacombs, is closed, and 
an inscription placed on a slab outside. Thus in the 
Campo Santo at Genoa we walk through a gallery of 
tombs. On either hand are ranges of low elongated 
niches, rising tier above tier, each bearing a long white 
marble tablet, surrounded by a broad border of dark ser- 
pentine breccia. The interior generally is faced with 
white marble, which is toned down by the interspaces of 
the darker material, and the effect produced by these 
simple monumental corridors, these silent records of those 
who have rested from their labors, is impressive, if 
somewhat melancholy. In the cloisters, as a rule, the 
more sumptuous memorials are to be found. Here com- 
monly sections of the wall are given up to the monuments 
of a family, the vaults, as I infer, being underneath the 
pavement. These memorials are often elaborate in de- 
sign, and costly in their materials. They will be, and 
are, greatly admired by those to whose minds sumptuous- 
ness is the chief element in beauty, and a rather second- 
rate execution of conceptions distinctly third-rate gives 
no offense. Others, however, will be chiefly impressed 
with the inferiority of modern statuary to the better 
work of classic ages, and will doubt whether the more 
ambitious compositions which met our eyes in these gal- 



i84 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

leries are preferable to the simple dignity of the mediseval 
altar tomb, and the calm repose of its recumbent figure. 

The drive to the Campo Santo, in addition to afford- 
ing a view of one of the more perfect parts of the old de- 
fensive enclosure of Genoa, of which the Porta Chiappia, 
one of the smaller gates, may serve as an example, passes 
within sight, though at some distance below, one of the 
few relics of classic time which the city has retained. 
This is the aqueduct which was constructed by the 
Romans. Some portions of it, so far as can be seen from 
below, appear to belong to the original structure; but, as 
it is still in use, it has been in many parts more or less 
reconstructed and modernized. 

The environs of Genoa are pleasant. On both sides, 
particularly on the eastern, are country houses with 
gardens. The western for a time is less attractive. The 
suburb of Sanpierdarena is neither pretty nor interesting ; 
but at Conigliano, and still more at Sestre Ponente, the 
grimy finger-marks of commerce become less conspic- 
uous, and Nature is not wholly expelled by the two- 
pronged fork of mechanicism. Pegli, still farther west, 
is a very attractive spot, much frequented in summer 
time for sea-bathing. On this part of the coast the hills 
in places draw near to the sea, and crags rise from the 
water; the rocks are of interest in more than one respect 
to the geologist. One knoll of rock rising from the sand 
in the Bay of Pra is crowned by an old fortress, and at 
Pegli itself are one or two villas of note. Of these the 
gardens of the Villa Pallavicini commonly attract vis- 
itors. They reward some by stalactite grottoes and 
" sheets of water with boats, under artificial caverns, a 
Chinese pagoda, and an Egyptian obelisk ; " others will be 
more attracted by the beauty of the vegetation, for palms 



THE TWO RIVIERAS 185 

and oleanders, myrtles, and camellias, with many semi- 
tropical plants, flourish in the open air. 

We may regard Genoa as the meeting-place of the 
two Rivieras. The coast to the west — the Riviera di 
Ponente — what has now, by the cession of Nice, become 
in part French soil, is the better known; but that to the 
east, the Riviera di Levante, though less accessible on 
the whole, and without such an attractive feature as the 
Corniche road, in the judgment of some is distinctly the 
more beautiful. There is indeed a road which, for a 
part of the way, runs near the sea; but the much more 
indented character of the coast frequently forces it some 
distance inland, and ultimately it has to cross a rather 
considerable line of hills in order to reach Spezzia. The 
outline of the coast, indeed, is perhaps the most marked 
feature of difference between the two Rivieras. The hills 
on the eastern side descend far more steeply to the water 
than they do upon the western. They are much more 
sharply furrowed with gullies and more deeply indented 
by inlets of the sea ; thus the construction of a railway 
from Genoa to Spezzia has been a work involving no 
slight labor. There are, it is stated, nearly fifty tunnels 
between the two towns, and it is strictly true that for 
a large part of the distance north of the latter place the 
train is more frequently under than above ground. Here 
it is actually an advantage to travel by the slowest train 
that can be found, for this may serve as an epitome of 
the journey by an express : " Out of a tunnel; one glance, 
between rocks and olive-groves, up a ravine, into which 
a picturesque old village is wedged ; another glance down 
the same to the sea, sparkling in the sunlight below ; a 
shriek from the engine, and another plunge into dark- 
ness." So narrow are some of these gullies, up which. 



i86 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

however, a village climbs, that, if I may trust my mem- 
ory, I have seen a train halted at a station with the engine 
in the opening of one tunnel and the last car not yet 
clear of another. 

But the coast, when explored, is full of exquisite nooks, 
and here and there, where by chance the hills slightly 
recede, or a larger valley than usual comes down to the 
sea, towns of some size are situated, from which, as 
halting-places, the district might be easily explored, for 
trains are fairly frequent, and the distances are not great. 
For a few miles from Genoa the coast is less hilly than 
it afterwards becomes ; nevertheless, the traveller is pre- 
pared for what lies before him by being conducted from 
the main station, on the west side of Genoa, completely 
beneath the city to near its eastern wall. Then Nervi 
is passed, which, like Pegli, attracts not a few summer 
visitors, and is a bright and sunny town, with pleasant 
gardens and villas. Recco follows, also bright and cheer- 
ful, backed by the finely-outlined hills, which form the 
long promontory enclosing the western side of the Bay 
of Rapallo. Tunnels and villages, as the railway now 
plunges into the rock, now skirts the margin of some little 
bay, lead first to Rapallo and then to Chiavari, one with 
its slender campanile, the other with its old castle. The 
luxuriance of the vegetation in all this district cannot fail 
to attract notice. The slopes of the hills are grey with 
olives ; oranges replace apples in the orchards, and in 
the more sheltered nooks we espy the paler gold of the 
lemon. Here are great spiky aloes, there graceful feather- 
ing palms ; here pines of southern type, with spreading 
holm-oaks, and a dozen other evergreen shrubs. 

Glimpse after glimpse of exquisite scenery flashes upon 
us as we proceed to Spezzia, but, as already said, its full 



SPEZZIA 187 

beauty can only be appreciated by rambling among the 
hills or boating along the coast. There is endless variety, 
but the leading features are similar: steep hills furrowed 
by ravines, craggy headlands and sheltered coves ; vil- 
lages sometimes perched high on a shoulder, sometimes 
nestling in a gully; sometimes a campanile, sometimes a 
watch-tower; slopes, here clothed with olive groves, here 
with their natural covering of pine and oak scrub, of 
heath, myrtle, and strawberry-trees. A change also in 
the nature of the rock diversifies the scenery, for between 
Framura and Bonasola occurs a huge mass of serpentine, 
which recalls, in its peculiar structure and tints, the crags 
near the Lizard in England. This rock is extensively 
quarried in the neighborhood of Levanto, and from that 
little port many blocks are shipped. 

Spezzia itself has a remarkable situation. A large in- 
let of the sea runs deep into the land, parallel with the 
general trend of the hills, and almost with that of the 
coast-line. The range which shelters it on the west nar- 
rows as it falls to the headland of Porto Venere, and is 
extended yet farther by rocky islands ; while on the op- 
posite coast, hills no less, perhaps yet more, lofty, pro- 
tect the harbor from the eastern blasts. In one direction 
only is it open to the wind, and against this the com- 
parative narrowness of the inlet renders the construction 
of artificial defenses possible. At the very head of this 
deeply embayed sheet of water is a small tract of level 
ground — the head, as it were, of a valley — encircled by 
steep hills. On this little plain, and by the waterside, 
stands Spezzia. Eormerly it was a quiet country town, 
a small seaport with some little commerce ; but when Italy 
ceased to be a geographical expression, and became prac- 
tically one nation, Spezzia was chosen, wisely it must be 



i88 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

admitted, as the site of the chief naval arsenal. A single 
glance shows its natural advantages for such a purpose. 
Access from the land must always present difficulties, 
and every road can be commanded by forts, perched on 
yet more elevated positions ; while a hostile fleet, as it 
advances up the inlet, must run the gauntlet of as many 
batteries as the defenders can build. Further, the con- 
struction of a breakwater across the middle of the chan- 
nel at once has been a protection from the storms, and 
has compelled all who approach to pass through straits 
commanded by cannon. The distance of the town from 
its outer defenses and from the open sea seems enough 
to secure it even from modern ordnance; so that, until 
the former are crushed, it cannot be reached by pro- 
jectiles. But it must be confessed that the change has 
not been without its drawbacks. The Spezzia of to-day 
may be a more prosperous town than the Spezzia of a 
quarter of a century since, but it has lost some of its 
beauty. A twentieth-century fortress adds no charm 
to the scenery, and does not crown a hill so picturesquely 
as did a mediaeval castle. Houses are being built, roads 
are being made, land is being reclaimed from the sea for 
the construction of quays. Thus the place has a generally 
untidy aspect ; there is a kind of ragged selvage to town 
and sea, which, at present, on a near view, is very un- 
sightly. Moreover, the buildings of an arsenal can hardly 
be picturesque or magnificent ; and great factories, more 
or less connected with them, have sprung up in the neigh- 
borhood, from which rise tall red brick chimneys, the 
campaniles of the twentieth century. The town itself 
was never a place of any particular interest ; it has neither 
fine churches nor old gateways nor picturesque streets 
— a ruinous fort among the olive groves overlooking the 



ORANGES 189 

streets is all that can claim to be ancient — so that its 
growth has not caused the loss of any distinctive feature 
— unless it be a grove of old oleanders, which were once 
a sight to see in summer time. Many of these have now 
disappeared, perhaps from natural decay; and the sur- 
vivors are mixed with orange trees. These, during late 
years, have been largely planted about the town. In one 
of the chief streets they are growing by the side of the 
road, like planes or chestnuts in other towns. The golden 
fruit and the glossy leaves, always a delight to see, ap- 
pear to possess a double charm by contrast with the arid 
flags and dusty streets. Ripe oranges in dozens, in hun- 
dreds, all along by the pathway, and within two or three 
yards of the pavement ! Are the boys of Spezzia ex- 
ceptionally virtuous ? or are these golden apples of the 
Hesperides a special pride of the populace, and does 
" Father stick " still rule in home and school, and is this 
immunity the result of physical coercion rather than of 
moral suasion ? Be this as it may, I have with mine own 
eyes seen golden oranges by hundreds hanging on the 
trees in the streets of Spezzia, and would be glad to know 
how long they would remain in a like position in those 
of an English town, among " the most law-abiding people 
in the universe ! " 

But if the vicinity of the town has lost some of its 
ancient charm, if modern Spezzia reminds us too much, 
now of Woolwich, now of a " new neighborhood " on 
the outskirts of London, we have but to pass into the 
uplands, escaping from the neighborhood of forts, to 
find the same beauties as the mountains of this coast ever 
afford. There the sugar-cane and the vine, the fig and 
the olive cease, though the last so abounds that one might 
suppose it an indigenous growth ; there the broken slopes 



I90 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

are covered with scrub oak and dwarf pine ; there the 
myrtle blossoms, hardly ceasing in the winter months ; 
there the strawberry-tree shows its waxen flowers, and 
is bright in season with its rich crimson berries. Even 
the villages add a beauty to the landscape — at any rate, 
when regarded from a distance ; some are perched high 
up on the shoulders of hills, with distant outlooks over 
land and sea; others lie down by the water's edge in 
sheltered coves, beneath some ruined fort, which in olden 
time protected the fisher-folk from the raids of corsairs. 
Such are Terenza and Lerici, looking at each other across 
the waters of the little " Porto ; " and many another vil- 
lage, in which grey and white and pink tinted houses 
blend into one pleasant harmony of color. For all this 
part of the coast is a series of rocky headlands and tiny 
bays, one succession of quiet nooks, to which the sea 
alone forms a natural highway. Not less irregular, not 
less sequestered, is the western coast of the bay of Spez- 
zia, which has been already mentioned. Here, at Porto 
Venere, a little village still carries us back in its name to 
classic times ; and the old church on the rugged head- 
land stands upon a site which was once not unfitly oc- 
cupied by a temple of the seaborn goddess. The beauty 
of the scene is enhanced by a rocky wooded island, the 
Isola Palmeria, which rises steeply across a narrow strait ; 
though the purpose to which it has been devoted — a 
prison for convicts — neither adds to its charm nor awak- 
ens pleasant reflections. 

To some minds also the harbor itself, busy and bright 
as the scene often is, will suggest more painful thoughts 
than it did in olden days. For it is no preacher of 
" peace at any price," and is a daily witness that millen- 
nial days are still far away from the present epoch. 



THE HARBOR 191 

Here may be seen at anchor the modern devices for naval 
war : great turret-ships and ironclads, gunboats and tor- 
pedo launches — evils, necessary undoubtedly, but evils 
still ; outward and visible signs of the burden of taxation, 
which is cramping the development of Italy, and is in- 
directly the heavy price which it has to pay for entering 
the ranks of the great Powers of Europe. These are 
less picturesque than the old line-of-battle ships, with their 
high decks, their tall masts, and their clouds of canvas ; 
still, nothing can entirely spoil the harbor of Spezzia. 
and even these floating castles group pleasantly in the 
distance with the varied outline of hills and headlands, 
which is backed at last, if we look southward, by the 
grand outline of a group of veritable mountains — the 
Apuan Alps. 



IX 

THE TUSCAN COAST 

Shelley's last months at Lerici — Story of his death — Carrara and 
its marble quarries — Pisa — Its grand group of ecclesiastical 
buildings — The cloisters of the Campo Santo — Napoleon's 
life on Elba — Origin of the Etruscans — The ruins of Tar- 
quinii — Civita Vecchia, the old port of Rome — Ostia. 

THE Bay of Spezzia is defined sharply enough on 
its western side by the long, hilly peninsula 
which parts it from the Mediterranean, but as 
this makes only a small angle with the general trend of 
the coast-line, its termination is less strongly marked on 
the opposite side. Of its beauties we have spoken in an 
earlier article, but there is a little town at the southern 
extremity which, in connection with the coast below, has 
a melancholy interest to every lover of English literature. 
Here, at Lerici, Shelley spent what proved to be the last 
months of his life. The town itself, once strongly forti- 
fied by its Pisan owners against their foes of Genoa on 
the one side and Lucca on the other, is a picturesque spot. 
The old castle crowns a headland, guarding the little 
harbor and overlooking the small but busy town. At a 
short distance to the southeast is the Casa Magni, once 
a Jesuit seminary, which was occupied by Shelley. 
Looking across the beautiful gulf to the hills on its oppo- 
site shore and the island of Porto Venere, but a few miles 

192 



SHELLEY 193 

from the grand group of the Carrara mountains, in the 
middle of the Kixuriant scenery of the Eastern Riviera, 
the house, though in itself not very attractive, was a fit 
home for a lover of nature. But Shelley's residence 
within its walls was too soon cut short. There are 
strange tales (like those told with bated breath by old 
nurses by the fireside) that as the closing hour ap- 
proached the spirits of the unseen world took bodily form 
and became visible to the poet's eye ; tales of a dark- 
robed figure standing by his bedside beckoning him to 
follow ; of a laughing child rising from the sea as he 
walked by moonlight on the terrace, clapping its hands 
in glee ; and of other warnings that the veil which parted 
him from the spirit world was vanishing away. Shelley 
delighted in the sea. On the ist of July he left Lerici 
for Leghorn in a small sailing vessel. On the 8th he set 
out to return, accompanied only by his friend, Mr. Wil- 
liams, and an English lad. The afternoon was hot and 
sultry, and as the sun became low a fearful squall burst 
upon the neighboring sea. What happened no one ex- 
actly knows, but they never came back to the shore. Day 
followed day, and the great sea kept its secret ; but at 
last, on the 22d, the corpse of Shelley was washed up 
near Viareggio and that of Williams near Bocca Lerici, 
three miles away. It was not till three weeks afterwards 
that the body of the sailor lad came ashore. Probably 
the felucca had either capsized or had been swamped at 
the first break of the storm ; but when it was found, some 
three months afterwards, men said that it looked as if 
it had been run down, and even more ugly rumors got 
abroad that this was no accident, but the work of some 
Italians, done in the hope of plunder, as it was expected 
that the party had in charge a considerable sum of money. 



194 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

The bodies were at first buried in the sand with quick- 
lime; but at that time the Tuscan law required "any 
object then cast ashore to be burned, as a precaution 
against plague," so, by the help of friends, the body of 
Shelley was committed to the flames " with fuel and 
frankincense, wine, salt, and oil, the accompaniments of 
a Greek cremation," in the presence of Byron, Leigh 
Hunt, and Trelawny. The corpse of Williams had been 
consumed in like fashion on the previous day. " It was 
a glorious day and a splendid prospect ; the cruel and 
calm sea before, the Apennines behind. A curlew 
wheeled close to the pyre, screaming, and would not be 
driven away ; the flames arose golden and towering." 
The inurned ashes were entombed, as everyone knows, 
in the Protestant burial ground at Rome by the side of 
Keats' grave, near the pyramid of Cestius. Much as 
there was to regret in Shelley's life, there was more in 
his death, for such genius as his is rare, and if the work 
of springtide was so glorious, what might have been the 
summer fruitage? 

As the Gulf of Spezzia is left behind, the Magra 
broadens out into an estuary as it enters the sea, the 
river which formed in olden days the boundary between 
Liguria and Etruria. Five miles from the coast, and 
less than half the distance from the river, is Sarzana, the 
chief city of the province, once fortified, and still con- 
taining a cathedral of some interest. It once gave birth 
to :a Pope, Nicholas V., the founder of the Vatican 
Library, and in the neighborhood the family of the 
Buonapartes had their origin, a branch of it having 
emigrated to Corsica. Sarzana bore formerly the name 
of Luna Nova, as it had replaced another Luna which 
stood nearer to the mouth of the river. This was in ruins 



CARRARA 195 

even in the days of Lucan, and now the traveller from 
Saranza to Pisa sees only " a strip of low, grassy land 
intervening between him and the sea. Here stood the 
ancient city. There is little enough to see. Beyond a 
few crumbling tombs and a fragment or two of Roman 
ruins, nothing remains of Luna. The fairy scene de- 
scribed by Rutilius, so appropriate to the spot which bore 
the name of the virgin-queen of heaven, the ' fair white 
walls ' shaming with their brightness the untrodden snow, 
the smooth, many-tinted rocks overrun with laughing 
lilies, if not the pure creation of the poet, have now van- 
ished from the sight. Vestiges of an amphitheater, of 
a semicircular building which may be a theater, of a 
circus, a piscina, and fragments of columns, pedestals for 
statues, blocks of pavement and inscriptions, are all that 
Luna has now to show." 

But all the while the grand group of the Carrara hills 
is in view, towering above a lowland region which rolls 
down towards the coast. A branch line now leads from 
Avenza, a small seaport town from which the marble is 
shipped, to the town of Carrara, through scenery of sin- 
gular beauty. The shelving banks and winding slopes 
of the foreground hills are clothed with olives and oaks 
and other trees; here and there groups of houses, white 
and grey and pink, cluster around a campanile tower on 
some coign of vantage, while at the back rises the great 
mountain wall of the Apuan Alps, with its gleaming- 
crags, scarred, it must be admitted, rather rudely and 
crudely by its marble quarries, though the long slopes of 
screes beneath these gashes in the more distant views al- 
most resemble the Alpine snows. The situation of the 
town is delightful, for it stands at the entrance of a 
rapidly narrowing valley, in a sufficiently elevated posi- 



196 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

tion to command a view of this exquisitely rich lowland 
as it shelves and rolls down to the gleaming sea. Nor is 
the place itself devoid of interest. One of its churches 
at least, S. Andrea, is a reall}^ handsome specimen of the 
architecture of this part of Italy in the thirteenth cen- 
tury, but the quarries dominate, and their products are 
everywhere. Here are the studios of sculptors and the 
ateliers of workmen. The fair white marble here, like 
silver in the days of Solomon, is of little account ; it 
paves the streets, builds the houses, serves even for the 
basest uses, and is to be seen strewn or piled up every- 
where to await dispersal by the trains to more distant 
regions. Beyond the streets of Carrara, in the direction 
of the mountains, carriage roads no longer exist. Lanes 
wind up the hills here and there in rather bewildering 
intricacy, among vines and olive groves, to hamlets and 
quarries ; one, indeed, of rather larger size and more 
fixity of direction, keeps for a time near the river, if 
indeed the stream which flows by Carrara be worthy of 
that name, except when the storms are breaking or the 
snows are melting upon the mountains. But all these 
lanes alike terminate in a quarry, are riven with deep 
ruts, ploughed up like a field by the wheels of the heavy 
wagons that bring down the great blocks of marble. One 
meets these grinding and groaning on their way, drawn 
by yokes of dove-colored oxen (longer than that with 
which Elisha was ploughing when the older prophet cast 
his mantle upon his shoulders), big. meek-looking beasts, 
mild-eyed and melancholy as the lotus-eaters. To meet 
them is not always an unmixed pleasure, for the lanes 
are narrow, and there is often no room to spare ; how 
the traffic is regulated in some parts is a problem which 
I have not yet solved. 



PIETRA SANTA 197 

Carrara would come near to being an earthly paradise 
■ were it not for the mosquitos, which are said to be such 
that they would have made even the Garden of Eden 
untenable, especially to its first inhabitants. Of them, 
however, I cannot speak, for I have never slept in the 
town, or even visited it at the season when this curse 
of the earth is at its worst; but I have no hesitation in 
asserting that the mountains of Carrara are not less beau- 
tiful in outline than those of any part of the main chain 
of the Alps of like elevation, while they are unequalled 
in color and variety of verdure. 

To Avenza succeeds Massa, a considerable town, beau- 
tifully situated among olive-clad heights, which are 
spotted with villas and densely covered with foliage. 
Like Carrara, it is close to the mountains, and disputes 
with Carrara for the reputation of its quarries. This 
town was once the capital of a duchy, Massa-Carrara, 
and the title was borne by a sister of Napoleon I. Her 
large palace still remains ; her memory should endure, 
though not precisely in honor, for, according to Mr. 
Hare, she pulled down the old cathedral to improve the 
view from her windows. But if Massa is beautiful, so 
is Pietra Santa, a much smaller town enclosed by old 
walls and singularly picturesque in outline. It has a fine 
old church, with a picturesque campanile, which, though 
slightly more modern than the church itself, has seen 
more than four c£nturies. The piazza, with the Town 
Hall, this church and another one, is a very characteristic 
feature. In the baptistry of one of the churches are some 
bronzes by Donatello. About half-a-dozen miles away, 
reached by a road which passes through beautiful scenery, 
are the marble quarries of Seravezza, which were first 
opened by Michael Angelo, and are still in full work. 



198 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

There is only one drawback to travelling by railway in 
this region; the train goes too fast. Let it be as slow 
as It will, and it can be very slow, we can never succeed 
in coming to a decision as to which is the most pictur- 
esquely situated place or the most lovely view. Compari- 
sons notoriously are odious, but delightful, as undoubt- 
edly is the Riviera di Ponenta to me, the Riviera di 
Levante seems even more lovely. 

After Pietra Santa, however, the scenery becomes less 
attractive, the Apuan Alps begin to be left behind, and 
a wider strip of plain parts the Apennines from the sea. 
This, which is traversed by the railway, is in itself flat, 
stale, though perhaps not unprofitable to the husband- 
man. Viareggio, mentioned on a previous page, nestles 
among its woods of oaks and pines, a place of some little 
note as a health resort ; and then the railway after emerg- 
ing from the forest strikes away from the sea, and crosses 
the marshy plains of the Serchio, towards the banks of 
the Arno. 

It now approaches the grand group of ecclesiastical 
buildings which rise above the walls of Pisa. As this 
town lies well inland, being six miles from the sea, we 
must content ourselves with a brief mention. But a long 
description is needless, for who does not know of its 
cathedral and its Campo Santo, of its baptistry and its 
leaning tower? There is no more marvelous or complete 
group of ecclesiastical buildings in Europe, all built of 
the white marble of Carrara, now changed by age into 
a delicate cream color, but still almost dazzling in the 
glory of the midday sun, yet never so beautiful as when 
walls, arches, and pinnacles are aglow at its rising, or 
flushed at its setting. In the cloisters of the Campo 
Santo you may see monuments which range over nearly 



PISA 199 

five centuries, and contrast ancient and modern art; the 
frescoes on their walls, though often ill preserved, and 
not seldom of little merit, possess no small interest as 
illustrating mediaeval notions of a gospel of love and 
peace. Beneath their roof 'at the present time are shel- 
tered a few relics of Roman and Etruscan days which 
will repay examination. The very soil also of this God's 
acre is not without an interest, for when the Holy Land 
was lost to the Christians, fifty-and-three shiploads of 
earth were brought hither from Jerusalem that the dead 
of Pisa might rest in ground which had been sanctified 
by the visible presence of their Redeemer. The cathe- 
dral is a grand example of the severe but stately style 
which was in favor about the end of the eleventh cen- 
tury, for it was consecrated in the year 11 18. It com- 
memorates a great naval victory won by the Pisans three 
years before the battle of Hastings, and the columns 
which support the arches of the interior were at once the 
spoils of classic buildings and the memorials of Pisan 
victories. The famous leaning tower, though later in 
date, harmonizes well in general style with the catliedral. 
Its position, no doubt, attracts most attention, for to the 
eye it seems remarkably insecure, but one cannot help 
wishing that the settlement had never occurred, for the 
slope is sufficient to interfere seriously with the har- 
mony of the group. The baptistry also harmonizes with 
the cathedral, though it was not begun till some forty 
years after the latter was completed, and not only was 
more than a century in building, but also received some 
ornamental additions in the fourteenth century. But 
though this cathedral group is the glory and the crown 
of Pisa, the best monument of its proudest days, there 
are other buildings of interest in the town itself ; and the 



200 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

broad quays which fl'ank the Arno on each side, the Lun- 
garno by name, which form a continuous passage from 
one end of the town to the other, together with the four 
bridges which hnk its older and newer part, are well 
worthy of more than a passing notice. 

The land bordering the Arno between Pisa and its 
junction with the Mediterranean has no charm for the 
traveller, however it may commend itself to the farmer. 
A few miles south of the river's mouth is Leghorn, and 
on the eleven miles' journey by rail from it to Pisa the 
traveller sees as much, and perhaps more, than he could 
wish of the delta of the Arno. It is a vast alluvial plain, 
always low-lying, in places marshy ; sometimes meadow 
land, sometimes arable. Here and there are slight and 
inconspicuous lines of dunes, very probably the records 
of old sea margins as the river slowly encroached upon 
the Mediterranean, which are covered sometimes with a 
grove of pines. 

Leghorn is not an old town, and has little attraction 
for the antiquarian or the artist. In fact, I think it, for 
its size, the most uninteresting town, whether on the 
sea or inland, that I have entered in Italy. Brindisi is 
a dreary hole, but it has one or two objects of interest. 
Bari is not very attractive, but it has two churches, the 
architecture of which will repay long study ; but Leg- 
horn is almost a miracle of commonplace architecture 
and of dullness. Of course there is a harbor of course 
there are ships, of course there is the sea, and all these 
possess a certain charm ; but really this is about as small 
as it can be under the circumstances. The town was a 
creation of the Medici, " the masterpiece of that dynasty." 
In the middle of the sixteenth century it was an insignifi- 
cant place, with between seven and eight hundred in- 



LEGHORN 201 

habitants. But it increased rapidly when the princes of 
that family took the town in hand and made it a cave 
of Adullam, whither the discontented or oppressed from 
other lands might resort : Jews and Moors from Spain 
and Portugal, escaping from persecution ; Roman 
Catholics from England, oppressed by the retaliatory 
laws of Elizabeth ; merchants from Marseilles, seeking 
refuge from civil war. Thus fostered, it was soon 
thronged by men of talent and energy; it rapidly grew 
into an important center of commerce, and now the town 
with its suburbs contains nearly a hundred thousand 
souls. 

Leghorn is intersected by canals, sufficiently so to have 
been sometimes called a " Little Venice," and has been 
fortified, but as the defences belong to the system of 
Vauban, they add little to either the interest or the 
picturesqueness of the place. Parts of the walls and the 
citadel remain, the latter being enclosed by a broad 
water-ditch. The principal street has some good shops, 
and there are two fairly large piazzas ; in one, bearing 
the name of Carlo Alberto, are statues of heroic size to 
the last Grand Duke and to his predecessor. The in- 
scription on the latter is highly flattering ; but that on the 
former states that the citizens had come to the conclu- 
sion that the continuance of the Austro-Lorenese dy- 
nasty was incompatible with the good order and happi- 
ness of Tuscany, and had accordingly voted union with 
Italy. The other piazza now bears Victor Emmanuel's 
name; in it are a building which formerly was a royal 
palace, the town hall, and the cathedral; the last a fair- 
sized church, but a rather plain specimen of the Renais- 
sance style, with some handsome columns of real marble 
and a large amount of imitation, painted to match. There 



202 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

are also some remains of the old fortifications though 
they are not so very old, by the side of the inner or orig- 
inal harbor. As this in course of time proved too shal- 
low for vessels of modern bulk, the Porto Nuovo, or 
outer harbor, was begun nearly fifty years since, and is 
protected from the waves by a semicircular mole. Among 
the other lions of the place, and they are all very small, 
is a statue of Duke Ferdinand I., one of the founders of 
Leghorn, with four Turkish slaves about the pedestal. 
The commerce of Leghorn chiefly consists of grain, cot- 
ton, wool, and silk, and is carried on mainly with the 
eastern ports of the Mediterranean. There is also an 
important shipbuilding establishment. It has, however, 
one link of interest with English literature, for in the 
Protestant cemetery was buried Tobias Smollett. There 
is a pleasant public walk by the sea margin outside the 
town, from where distant views of Elba and other islands 
are obtained. 

The hilly ground south of the broad valley of the 
Arno is of little interest, and for a considerable distance 
a broad strip of land, a level plain of cornfields and 
meadow, intervenes between the sea and the foot of the 
hills. Here and there long lines of pine woods seem 
almost to border the former; the rounded spurs of the 
latter are thickly wooded, but are capped here and there 
by grey villages, seemingly surrounded by old walls, and 
are backed by the bolder outlines of the more distant 
Apennines. For many a long mile this kind of scenery 
will continue, this flat, marshy, dyke-intersected plain, 
almost without a dwelling upon it, though village after 
village is seen perched like epaulettes on the low should- 
ers of the hills. It is easy to understand why they are 



ELBA 203 

placed in this apparently inconvenient position, for we 
are at the beginning of the Tuscan Maremma, a district 
scourged by malaria during the summer months, and 
none too healthy, if one may judge by the looks of the 
peasants, during any time of the year. But one cannot 
fail to observe that towards the northern extremity 
houses have become fairly common on this plain, and 
many of them are new, so that the efforts which have 
been made to improve the district by draining seem to 
have met with success. For some time the seaward 
views are very fine; comparatively near to the coast a 
hilly island rises steeply from the water and is crowned 
with a low round tower. Behind this lies Elba, a long, 
bold, hilly ridge, and far away, on a clear day, the great 
mountain mass of Corsica looms blue in the distance. 

Elba has its interests for the geologist, its beauties for 
the lover of scenery. It has quarries of granite and ser- 
pentine, but its fame rests on its iron mines, which have 
been noted from very early times and from which fine 
groups of crystals of hematite are still obtained. So 
famed was it in the days of the Roman Empire as to call 
forth from Virgil the well-known line, " Insula inex- 
haustis chalybum generosa metallis." When these, its 
masters, had long passed away, it belonged in turn to 
Pisa, to Genoa, to Lucca and, after others, to the Grand 
Duke Cosimo of Florence. Then it became Neapolitan, 
and at last French. As everyone knows, it was assigned 
to Napoleon after his abdication, and from May, 1814, 
to February, 181 5, he enjoyed the title of King of Elba. 
Then, while discontent was deepening in France, and 
ambassadors were disputing round the Congress-table at 
Vienna, he suddenly gave the slip to' the vessels which 



204 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

were watching the coast and landed in France to march 
in triumph to Paris, to be defeated at Waterloo, and to 
die at St. Helena. 

The island is for the most part hilly, indeed almost 
mountainous, for it rises at one place nearly three thou- 
sand feet above the sea. The valleys and lower slopes 
are rich and fertile, producing good fruit and fair wine, 
and the views are often of great beauty. The fisheries 
are of some importance, especially that of the tunny. 
Porto Ferrajo, the chief town, is a picturesquely situated 
place, on the northern side, which still retains the forts 
built by Cosimo I. to defend his newly obtained territory, 
and the mansion, a very modest palace, inhabited by 
Napoleon. 

" It must be confessed my isle is very little " was 
Napoleon's remark when for the first time he looked 
around over his kingdom from a mountain summit above 
Porto Ferrajo. Little it is in reality, for the island is 
not much more than fifteen miles long, and at the widest 
part ten miles across ; and truly little it must have seemed 
to the man who had dreamed of Europe for his empire, 
and had half realized his vision. Nevertheless, as one 
of his historians remarks, " if an empire could be 
supposed to exist within such a brief space, Elba 
possesses so much both of beauty and variety as 
might constitute the scene of a summer night's dream of 
sovereignty." 

At first he professed to be " perfectly resigned to his 
fate, often spoke of himself as a man politically dead, 
and claimed credit for what he said on public affairs, as 
having no remaining interest in them." A comment on 
himself in connection with Elba is amusing. He had 
been exploring his new domain in the company of Sir 



NAPOLEON 205 

Niel Campbell, and had visited, as a matter of course, 
the iron mines. On being informed that they were valu- 
able, and brought in a revenue of about twenty thou- 
sand pounds per annum, " These then," he said, " are 
mine." But being reminded that he had conferred that 
revenue on the Legion of Honor, he exclaimed, " Where 
was my head when I made such a grant? But I have 
made many foolish decrees of that sort ! " 

He set to work at once to explore every corner of the 
island, and then to design a number of improvements and 
alterations on a scale which, had they been carried into 
execution with the means which he possessed, would 
have perhaps taken his lifetime to execute. The in- 
stinct of the conqueror was by no means dead within 
him ; for " one of his first, and perhaps most characteris- 
tic, proposals was to aggrandize and extend his Lillipu- 
tian dominions by the occupation of an uninhabited is- 
land called Pianosa, which had been left desolate on 
account of the frequent descents of the corsairs. He 
sent thirty of his guards, with ten of the independent 
company belonging to the island, upon this expedition 
(what a contrast to those which he had formerly 
directed!), sketched out a plan of fortification, and re- 
marked with complacency, ' Europe will say that I have 
already made a conquest.' " 

He was after a short time joined on the island by his 
mother and his sister Pauline, and not a few of those 
who had once fought under his flag drifted gradually 
to Elba and took service in his guards. A plot was 
organized in France, and when all was ready Napoleon 
availed himself of the temporary absence of Sir Niel 
Campbell and of an English cruiser and set sail from 
Elba. 



2o6 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

At four in the afternoon of Sunday, the 26th of Febru- 
ary, " a signal gun was fired, the drums beat to arms, 
the officers tumbled what they could of their effects into 
flour-sacks, the men arranged their knapsacks, the em- 
barkation began, and at eight in the evening they were 
under weigh." He had more than one narrow escape 
on his voyage ; for he was hailed by a French frigate. 
His soldiers, however, had concealed themselves, and his 
captain was acquainted with the commander of the 
frigate, so no suspicions were excited. Sir Niel Camp- 
bell also, as soon as he found out what had happened, 
gave chase in a sloop of war, but only arrived in time 
to obtain a distant view of Napoleon's flotilla as its 
passengers landed. 

Pianosa, the island mentioned above, lies to the north 
of Elba and gets its name from its almost level surface ; 
for the highest point is said to be only eighty feet above 
the sea. Considering its apparent insignificance, it 
figures more than could be expected in history. The ill- 
fated son of Marcus Agrippa was banished here by Au- 
gustus, at the instigation of Livia, and after a time was 
more effectually put out of the way, in order to secure 
the succession of her son Tiberius. We read also that 
it was afterwards the property of Marcus Piso, who 
used it as a preserve for peacocks, which were here as 
wild as pheasants with us. Some remnants of Roman 
baths still keep up the memory of its former masters. 
Long afterwards it became a bone of contention between 
Pisa and Genoa, and the latter State, on permitting the 
former to resume possession of these islands of the Tus- 
can Archipelago stipulated that Pianosa should be left 
forever uncultivated and deserted. To secure the execu- 



CAPRAJA 207 

tion of this engagement the Genoese stopped up all the 
wells with huge blocks of rock. 

Capraja, a lovely island to the northwest of Elba, is 
rather nearer to Corsica than to Italy. Though less than 
four miles long, and not half this breadth, it rivals either 
in hilliness, for its ridges rise in two places more than 
fourteen hundred feet above the sea. Saracen, Genoese, 
Pisan, and Corsican have caused it in bygone times to 
lead a rather troubled existence, and even so late as 1796 
Nelson knocked to pieces the fort which defended its 
harbor, and occupied the island. 

" The ' stagno,' or lagoon, the sea-marsh of Strabo, is 
a vast expanse of stagnant salt water, so shallow that it 
may be forded in parts, yet never dried up by the hottest 
summer ; the curse of the country around for the foul 
and pestilent vapour and the swarms of mosquitoes and 
other insects it generates at that season, yet compensat- 
ing the inhabitants with an abundance of fish. The 
fishery is generally carried on at night, and in the way 
often practiced in Italy and Sicily, by harpooning the 
fish, which are attracted by a light in the prow of the 
boat. It is a curious sight on calm nights to see hun- 
dreds of these little skiffs or canoes wandering about 
with their lights, and making an ever-moving illumina- 
tion on the surface of the lake." * 

Elba seems to maintain some relation with the main- 
land by means of the hilly promontory which supports 
the houses of Piombino, a small town, chiefly interesting 
as being at no great distance from Populonia, an old 
Etruscan city of which some considerable ruins still re- 

* Dennis : " Cities of Etruria." 



2o8 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

main. Here, when the clans gathered to bring back the 
Tarquins to Rome, stood 

" Sea-girt Populonia, 
Whose sentinels descry 
Sardinia's snowy mountain tops 
Fringing the southern sky." 

But long after Lars Porsenna of Clusium had retreated 
baffled from the broken bridge Populonia continued to 
be a place of some importance, for it has a castle erected 
in the Middle Ages. But now it is only a poor village ; 
it retains, however, fragments of building recalling its 
Roman masters, and its walls of polygonal masonry 
carry us back to the era of the Etruscans. 

It must not be forgotten that almost the whole of the 
coast line described in this chapter, from the river Magra 
to Civita Vecchia, belonged to that mysterious and, not 
so long since, almost unknown people, the Etruscans. 
Indeed, at one time their sway extended for a consider- 
able distance north and south of these limits. Even now 
there is much dispute as to their origin, but they were 
a powerful and civilized race before Rome was so much 
as founded. They strove with it for supremacy in Italy, 
and were not finally subdued by that nation until the 
third century before our era. " Etruria was of old 
densely populated, not only in those parts which are still 
inhabited, but also, as is proved by remains of cities and 
cemeteries, in tracts now desolated by malaria and re- 
lapsed into the desert; and what is now the fen or the 
jungle, the haunt of the wild boar, the buffalo, the fox, 
and the noxious reptile, where man often dreads to stay 
his steps, and hurries away from a plague-stricken land, 
of old yielded rich harvests of corn, wine, and oil, and 



ETRURIA 209 

contained numerous cities mighty and opulent, into 
whose laps commerce poured the treasures of the East 
and the more precious produce of Hellenic genius. Most 
of these ancient sites are now without a habitant, fur- 
rowed yearly by the plough, or forsaken as unprofitable 
wilderness ; and such as are still occupied are, with few 
exceptions, mere phantoms of their pristine greatness, 
mere villages in the place of populous cities. On ever^^ 
hand are traces of bygone civilization, inferior in quality, 
no doubt, to that which at present exists, but much wider 
in extent and exerting far greater influence on the neigh- 
boring nations and on the destinies of the world." * 

South of this headland the Maremma proper begins. 
Follonica, the only place for some distance which can 
be called a town, is blackened with smoke to an extent 
unusual in Italy, for here much of the iron ore from 
Elba is smelted. But the views in the neighborhood, 
notwithstanding the flatness of the marshy or scrub- 
covered plain, are not without a charm. The inland hills 
are often 'attractive ; to the north lie the headland of 
Piombino and sea-girt Elba, to the south the promontory 
of Castiglione, which ends in a lower line of bluff capped 
by a tower, and the irregular little island of Formica. At 
Castiglione della Pescaia is a little harbor, once fortified, 
which exports wool and charcoal, the products of the 
neighboring hills. The promontory of Castiglione must 
once have been an island, for it is parted from the inland 
range by the level plain of the Maremma. Presently 
Grosseto, the picturesque capital of the Maremma, ap- 
pears, perched on steeply rising ground above the enclos- 
ing plain, its sky-line relieved by a couple of low towers 
and a dome; it has been protected with defenses, which 
* Dennis: " Cities of Etruria," I., p. xxxii. 



2IO THE MEDITERRANEAN 

date probably from late in the seventeenth century. 
Then, after the Omborne has been crossed, one of the 
rivers which issue from the Apennines, the promontory 
of Talamone comes down to the sea, protecting the vil- 
lage of the same name. It is a picturesque little place, 
overlooked by an old castle, and the anchorage is shel- 
tered by the island of S. Giglio, quiet enough now, but 
the guide-book tells us that here, two hundred and 
twenty-five years before the Christian era, the Roman 
troops disembarked and scattered an invading Gaulish 
army. But to the south lies another promontory on a 
larger scale than Talamone ; this is the Monte Argen- 
tario, the steep slopes of which are a mass of forests. 
The views on this part of the coast are exceptionally 
attractive. Indeed, it would be difficult to find anything 
more striking than the situation of Orbitello. The town 
lies at the foot of the mountain, for Argentario, since it 
rises full two thousand feet above the sea, and is bold 
in outline, deserves the name. It is almost separated 
from the mainland by a great salt-water lagoon, which is 
bounded on each side by two low and narrow strips of 
land. The best view is from the south, where we look 
across a curve of the sea to the town and to Monte Ar- 
gentario with its double summit, which, as the border of 
the lagoon is so low, seems to be completely insulated. 

Orbitello is clearly proved to have been an Etruscan 
town ; perhaps, according to Mr. Dennis, founded by the 
Pelasgi, " for the foundations of the sea-wall which sur- 
rounds it on three sides are of vast polygonal blocks, just 
such as are seen in many ancient sites of central Italy 
(Norba, Segni, Palsestrina, to wit), and such as com- 
pose the walls of the neighboring Cosa." Tombs of 
Etruscan construction have also been found in the imme- 



ORBITELLO 211 

diate neighborhood of the city, on the isthmus of sand 
which connects it with the mainland. Others also have 
been found within the circuit of the walls. The tombs 
have been unusually productive ; in part, no doubt, be- 
cause they appear to have escaped earlier plunderers. 
Vases, numerous articles in bronze, and gold ornaments 
of great beauty have been found. Of the town itself, 
which from the distance has a very picturesque aspect, 
Mr. Dennis says : " It is a place of some size, having 
nearly six thousand inhabitants, and among Maremma 
towns is second only to Grosseto. It is a proof hovi? 
much population tends to salubrity in the Maremma that 
Orbitello, though in the midst of a stagnant lagoon ten 
square miles in extent, is comparatively healthy, and has 
more than doubled its population in thirty years, while 
Telamona and other small places along the coast are 
almost deserted in summer, and the few people that re- 
main become bloated like wine-skins or yellow as lizards." 
But the inland district is full of ruins and remnants of 
towns which in many cases were strongholds long before 
Romulus traced out the lines of the walls of Rome with 
his plough, if indeed that ever happened. Ansedonia, the 
ancient Cosa, is a very few miles away, Rusellse, Saturnia, 
Sovana at a considerably greater distance ; farther to the 
south rises another of these forest-clad ridges which, 
whether insulated by sea or by fen, are so characteristic 
of this portion of the Italian coast. Here the old walls 
of Corno, another Etruscan town, may be seen to rise 
above the olive-trees and the holm-oaks. 

Beyond this the lowland becomes more undulating, 
and the foreground scenery a little less monotonous. 
Corneto now appears crowning a gently shelving pla- 
teau at the end of a spur from the inland hills, which is 



212 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

guarded at last by a line of cliffs. Enclosed by a ring of 
old walls, like Cortona, it " lifts to heaven a diadem of 
towers." In site and in aspect it is a typical example of 
one of the old cities of Etruria. Three hundred feet and 
more above the plain which parts it from the sea, with 
the gleaming water full in view on one side and the 
forest-clad ranges on the other, the outlook is a charm- 
ing one, and the attractions within its walls are by no 
means slight. There are several old churches, and nu- 
merous Etruscan and Roman antiquities are preserved in 
the municipal museum. The town itself, however, is not 
of Etruscan origin, its foundation dates only from the 
Middle Ages ; but on an opposite and yet more insulated 
hill the ruins of Tarquinii, one of the great cities of the 
Etrurian League, can still be traced; hardly less import- 
ant than Veil, one of the most active cities in the en- 
deavor to restore the dynasty of the Tarquins, it con- 
tinued to flourish after it had submitted to Rome, but it 
declined in the dark days which followed the fall of the 
Empire, and never held up its head after it had been 
sacked by the Saracens, till at last it was deserted for 
Corneto, and met the usual fate of becoming a quarry 
for the new town. Only the remnants of buildings and 
of its defenses are now visible ; but the great necropolis 
which lies to the southeast of the Corneto, and on the 
same spur with it, has yielded numerous antiquities. A 
romantic tale of its discovery, so late as 1823, is related 
in the guide-books. A native of Corneto in digging acci- 
dentally broke into a tomb. Through the hole he beheld 
the figure of a warrior extended at length, accoutred in 
full armour. For a few minutes he gazed astonished, 
then the form of the dead man vanished almost like a 
ghost, for it crumbled into dust under the influence of the 



CIVITA VECCHIA 213 

fresh air. Numerous subterranean chambers have since 
been opened ; the contents vases, bronzes, gems and or- 
naments, have been removed to museums or scattered 
among the cabinets of collectors, but the mural paintings 
still remain. They are the works of various periods from 
the sixth to the second or third century before the Chris- 
tian era, and are indicative of the influence exercised by 
Greek art on the earlier inhabitants of Italy. 

As the headland, crowned by the walls of Corneto, re- 
cedes into the distance a little river is crossed, which, 
unimportant as it seems, has a place in ecclesiastical 
legend for we are informed that at the Torre Bertaldo, 
near its mouth, an angel dispelled St. Augustine's doubts 
on the subject of the Trinity. Then the road approaches 
the largest port on the coast since Leghorn was left. 
Civita Vecchia, as the name implies, is an old town, 
which, after the decline of Ostia, served for centuries as 
the port of Rome. It was founded by Trajan, and some- 
times bore his name in olden time, but there is little or 
nothing within the walls to indicate so great an antiquity. 
It was harried, like so many other places near the coast, 
by the Saracens, and for some years was entirely deserted, 
but about the middle of the ninth century the inhabitants 
returned to it, and the town, which then acquired its pres- 
ent name, by degrees grew into importance as the tem- 
poral power of the Papacy increased. If there is little to 
induce the traveller to halt, there is not much more to 
tempt the artist. Civita Vecchia occupies a very low and 
faintly defined headland. Its houses are whitish in color, 
square in outline, and rather flat-topped. There are no 
conspicuous towers or domes. It was once enclosed by 
fortifications built at various dates about the seventeenth 
century. These, however, have been removed on the 



214 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

land side, but still remain fairly perfect in the neighbor- 
hood of the harbor, the entrance to which is protected 
by a small island, from which rises a low massive tower 
and a high circular pharos. There is neither animation 
nor commerce left in the place ; what little there was dis- 
appeared when the railway was opened. It is living up 
to its name, and its old age cannot be called vigorous. 

South of Civita Vecchia the coast region, though often 
monotonous enough, becomes for a time slightly more 
diversified. There is still some marshy ground, still some 
level plain, but the low and gently rolling hills which 
border the main mass of the Apennines extend at times 
down to the sea, and even diversify its coast-line, broken 
by a low headland. This now and again, as at Santa 
Marinella, is crowned by an old castle. All around much 
evergreen scrub is seen, here growing in tufts among 
tracts of coarse herbage, there expanding into actual 
thickets of considerable extent, and the views sometimes 
become more varied, and even pretty. Santa Severa, a 
large castle built of grey stone, with its keep-like group 
of higher towers on its low crag overlooking the sea, 
reminds us of some old fortress on the Fifeshire coast. 
Near this headland, so antiquarians say, was Pyrgos, 
once the port of the Etruscan town of Csere, which lies 
away among the hills at a distance of some half-dozen 
miles. Here and there also a lonely old tower may be 
noticed along this part of the coast. These recall to mind 
in their situation, though they are more picturesque in 
their aspect, the Martello Towers on the southern coast 
of England. Like them, they are a memorial of troub- 
lous times, when the invader was dreaded. They were 
erected to protect the Tuscan coast from the descents of 



THE TIBER 215 

the Moors, who for centuries were the dread of the Med- 
iterranean. Again and again these corsairs swooped 
down; now a sm'all flotilla would attack some weakly 
defended town; now a single ship would land its boat- 
load of pirates on some unguarded beach to plunder a 
neighboring village or a few scattered farms, and would 
retreat from the raid with a little spoil and a small band 
of captives, doomed to slavery, leaving behind smoking 
ruins and bleeding corpses. It is strange to think how 
long it was before perfect immunity was secured from 
these curses of the Mediterranean. England, whatever 
her enemies may say, has done a few good deeds in her 
time, and one of the best was when her fleet, under the 
command of Admiral Pellew, shattered the forts of Al- 
giers and burnt every vessel of the pirate fleet. 

The scenery for a time continues to improve. The 
oak woods become higher, the inland hills are more 
varied in outline and are forest-clad. Here peeps out a 
crag, there a village or a castle. At Palo a large, unat- 
tractive villa and a picturesque old castle overlook a fine 
line of sea-beach, where the less wealthy classes in Rome 
come down for a breath of fresh air in the hot days of 
summer. It also marks the site of Alsium, where, in 
Roman times, one or two personages of note, of whom 
Pompey was the most important, had country residences. 
For a time there is no more level plain ; the land every- 
where shelves gently to the sea, covered with wood or 
with coarse herbage. But before long there is another 
change, and the great plain of the Tiber opens out before 
our eyes, extending on one hand to the not distant sea, 
on the other to the hills of Rome. It is flat, dreary, and 
unattractive, at any rate in the winter season, as is the 



2i6 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

valley of the Nen below Peterborough, or of the Witham 
beyond the Lincolnshire wolds. It is cut up by dykes, 
which are bordered by low banks. Here and there herds 
of mouse-colored oxen with long horns are feeding, and 
hay-ricks, round with low conical tops, are features more 
conspicuous than cottages. The Tiber winds on its ser- 
pentine course through this fenland plain, a muddy 
stream, which it was complimentary for the Romans to 
designate Havus, unless that word meant a color anything 
but attractive. One low tower in the distance marks the 
site of Porto, another that of Ostia, and near the latter a 
long grove of pines is a welcome variation to the mo- 
notony of the landscape. 

These two towns have had their day of greatness. The 
former, as its name implies, was once the port of Rome, 
and in the early days of Christianity was a place of note. 
It was founded by Trajan, in the neighborhood of a har- 
bor constructed by Claudius ; for this, like that of Ostia, 
which it was designed to replace, was already becom- 
ing choked up. But though emperors may propose, a 
river disposes, especially when its mud is in question. 
The port of Trajan has long since met with the same 
fate ; it is now only a shallow basin two miles from the 
sea. Of late years considerable excavations have been 
made at Porto on the estate of Prince Tortonia, to whom 
the whole site belongs. The port constructed by Trajan 
was hexagonal in form ; it was surrounded by warehouses 
and communicated with the sea by a canal. Between it 
and the outer or Claudian port a palace was built for 
the emperor, and the remains of the wall erected by Con- 
stantine to protect the harbor on the side of the land- 
can still be seen. The only mediaeval antiquities which 
Porto contains are the old castle, which serves as the 



OSTIA 217 

episcopal palace, and the tower of the church of Santa 
Rufina, which is at least as old as the tenth century. 

Ostia. which is a place of much greater antiquity than 
Porto, is not so deserted, though its star declined as that 
of the other rose. Founded, as some say, by Ancus 
Martins, it was the port of Rome until the first century 
of the present era. Then the silting up of its communi- 
cation with the sea caused the transference of the com- 
merce to Porto, but "the farne of the temple of Castor 
and Pollux, the numerous villas of the Roman patricians 
abundantly scattered along the coast, and the crowds of 
people who frequented its shores for the benefit of sea 
bathing, sustained the prosperity of the city for some 
time after the destruction of its harbor.'' But at last it 
went down hill, and then invaders came. Once it had 
contained eighty thousand inhabitants ; in the days of 
the Medici it was a poor village, and the people eked 
out their miserable existences by making lime of the 
marbles of the ruined temples ! So here the vandalism 
of peasants, even more than of patricians, has swept 
away many a choice relic of classic days. Villas and 
temples alike have been destroyed ; the sea is now at a 
distance ; Ostia is but a small village, " one of the most 
picturesque though melancholy sites near Rome," but 
during the greater part of the present century careful 
excavations have been made, many valuable art treas- 
ures have been unearthed, and a considerable portion of 
the ancient city has been laid bare. Shops and dwell- 
ings, temples and baths, the theater and the forum, with 
many a remnant of the ancient town, can now be ex- 
amined, and numerous antiquities of smaller size are 
preserved in the museum at the old castle. This, with 
its strong bastions, its lofty circular tower and huge 



2i8 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

machicolations, is a very striking object as it rises above 
the plain " massive and gray against the sky-line." It 
has been drawn by artists not a few, from Raffaelle, who 
saw it when it had not very long been completed, down 
to the present time. 



X 

VENICE 

Its early days — The Grand Canal and its palaces — Piazza of St. 
Mark— A Venetian funeral— The long line of islands— Vene- 
tian glass — Torcello, the ancient Altinum— Its two unique 
churches. 

SO long as Venice is unvisited a new sensation is 
among the possibilities of life. There is no town 
like it in Europe. Amsterdam has its canals, but 
Venice is all canals ; Genoa has its palaces, but in Venice 
they are more numerous and more beautiful. Its situation 
is unique, on a group of islands in the calm lagoon. But 
the Venice of to-day is not the Venice of thirty years ago. 
Even then a little of the old romance had gone, for a 
long railway viaduct had linked it to the mainland. In 
earlier days it could be reached only by a boat, for a 
couple of miles of salt water lay between the city and 
the marshy border of the Paduan delta. Now Venice is 
still more changed, and for the worse. The people seem 
more poverty-stricken and pauperized. Its buildings 
generally, especially the ordinary houses, look more dingy 
and dilapidated. The paint seems more chipped, the 
plaster more peeled, the brickwork more rotten; every- 
thing seems to tell of decadence, commercial and moral, 
rather than of regeneration. In the case of the more im- 
portant structures, indeed, the effects of time have often 

219 



220 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

been more than repaired. Here a restoration, not seldom 
needless and ill-judged, has marred some venerable relic 
of olden days with crude patches of color, due to mod- 
ern reproductions of the ancient and original work: the 
building has suffered, as it must be admitted not a few of 
our own most precious heirlooms have suffered, from the 
results of zeal untempered by discretion, and the de- 
stroyer has worked his will under the guise of the re- 
storer. 

The mosquito flourishes still in Venice as it did of yore. 
It would be too much to expect that the winged repre- 
sentative of the genus should thrive less in Italian free- 
dom than under Austrian bondage, but something might 
have been done to extirpate the two-legged species. He 
is present in force in most towns south of the Alps, but 
he is nowhere so abundant or so exasperating as in Ven- 
ice. If there is one place in one town in Europe where 
the visitor might fairly desire to possess his soul in 
peace and to gaze in thoughtful wonder, it is in the great 
piazza, in front of the fagade, strange and beautiful as a 
dream, of the duomo of St. Mark. Halt there and try 
to feast on its marvels, to worship in silence and in 
peace. Vain illusion. There is no crowd of hurrying 
vehicles or throng of hurrying men to interfere of neces- 
sity with your visions (there are often more pigeons 
than people in the piazza), but up crawls a beggar, in 
garments vermin-haunted, whining for " charity " ; 
down swoop would-be guides, volunteering useless sug- 
gestions in broken and barely intelligible English ; from 
this side and from that throng vendors of rubbish, shell- 
ornaments, lace, paltry trinkets, and long ribands of 
photographic " souvenirs," appalling in their ugliness. 
He who can stand five minutes before San Marco and 



THE ISLANDS 221 

retain a catholic love of mankind must indeed be blessed 
with a temper of much more than average amiability. 

The death of Rome was indirectly the birth of Venice. 
Here in the great days of the Empire there was not, so far 
as we know, even a village. Invaders came, the Adriatic 
littoral was wrecked; its salvage is to be found among 
the islands of the lagoons. Aquileia went up in flames, 
the cities of the Paduan delta trembled before the hordes 
of savage Huns, but the islands of its coast held out a 
hope of safety. What in those days these camps of 
refuge must have been can be inferred from, the islands 
which now border the mainland, low, marshy, overgrown 
by thickets, and fringed by reeds; they were unhealthy, 
but only accessible by intricate and difficult channels, 
and with little to tempt the spoiler. It was better to risk 
fever in the lagoons than to be murdered or driven oflf 
into slavery on the mainland. It was some time before 
Venice took the lead among these scattered settlements. 
It became the center of government in the year 810, but 
it was well-nigh two centuries before the Venetian State 
attained to any real eminence. Towards this, the first 
and perhaps the most important step was crushing the 
Istrian and Dalmatian pirates. This enabled the Re- 
public to become a great " Adriatic and Oriental Com- 
pany," and to get into their hands the carrying trade to 
the East. The men of Venice were both brave and 
shrewd, something like our Elizabethan forefathers, 
mighty on sea and land, but men of understanding also 
in the arts of peace. She did battle with Genoa for 
commercial supremacy, with the Turk for existence. She 
was too strong for the former, but the latter at last wore 
her out, and Lepanto was one of her latest and least 
fruitful triumphs. Still, it was not till the end of the 



222 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

sixteenth century that a watchful eye could detect the 
symptoms of senile decay. Then Venice tottered gradu- 
ally to its grave. Its slov/ disintegration occupied more 
than a century and a half; but the French Revolution in- 
directly caused the collapse of Venice, for its last doge 
abdicated, and the city was occupied by Napoleon in 
1797. After his downfall Venetia was handed over to 
Austria, and found in the Hapsburg a harsh and unsym- 
pathetic master. It made a vain struggle for freedom in 
1848, but was at last ceded to Italy after the Austro- 
Prussian war in 1866. 

The city is built upon a group of islands ; its houses are 
founded on piles, for there is no really solid ground. 
How far the present canals correspond with the original 
channels between small islands, how far they are artificial, 
it is difficult to say; but whether the original islets were 
few or many, there can be no doubt that they were form- 
erlv divided by the largest, or the Grand Canal, the Rio 
Alto or Deep Stream. This takes an S-like course, and 
parts the city roughly into two halves. The side canals, 
which are very numerous, for the town is said to occupy 
one hundred and fourteen islands, are seldom wider, 
often rather narrower than a by-street in the City of 
London. In Venice, as has often been remarked, not a cart 
or a carriage, not even a coster's donkey-cart, can be used. 
Streets enough there are, but they are narrow and 
twisting, very like the courts in the heart of London. 
The carriage, the cab, and the omnibus are replaced by 
the gondolas. These it is needless to describe, for who 
does not know them? One consequence of this substi- 
tution of canals for streets is that the youthful Venetian 
takes to the w^ater like a young duck to a pond, and does 
not stand much on ceremony in the matter of taking off 



FAMOUS VIEWS 223 

his clothes. Turn into a side canal on a summer's day, and 
one may see the younger members of a family all bathing 
from their own doorstep, the smallest one, perhaps, to 
prevent accidents, being tied by a cord to a convenient 
ring; nay, sometimes as we are wandering through one 
of the narrow calle (alleys) -we hear a soft patter of feet, 
something damp brushes past, and a little Venetian lad, 
lithe and black-eyed, bare-legged, bare-backed, and all 
but bare-breeched, shoots past as he makes a short cut 
to his clothes across a block of buildings, round which 
he cannot yet manage to swim. 

In such a city as Venice it is hard to praise one view 
above another. There is the noble sweep of the Grand 
Canal, with its palaces ; there are many groups of build- 
ings on a less imposing scale, but yet more picturesque, 
on the smaller canals, often almost every turn brings 
some fresh surprise ; but there are two views which al- 
ways rise up in my mind before all others whenever my 
thoughts turn to Venice, more especially as it used to 
be. One is the view of the fagade of San Marco from the 
Piazza. I shall make no apology for quoting words which 
describe more perfectly than my powers permit the im- 
pressions awakened by this dream-like architectural con- 
ception. " Beyond those troops of ordered arches there 
rises a vision out of the earth, and all the great square 
seems to have opened from it in a kind of awe, that we 
may see it far away : a multitude of pillars and white 
domes clustered into a long, low pyramid of colored 
light, a treasure-heap, as it seems, partly of gold and 
partly of opal and mother-of-pearl, hollowed beneath into 
five great vaulted porches, ceiled with fair mosaic and 
beset with sculptures of alabaster, clear as amber and 
delicate as ivory ; sculpture fantastic and involved, of 



224 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

palm-leaves and lilies, and grapes and pomegranates, 
and birds clinging and fluttering among the branches, 
all twined together into an endless network of buds and 
plumes, and, in the midst of it, the solemn forms of 
angels, sceptered and robed to the feet, and leaning to 
each other across the gates, their features indistinct 
among the gleaming of the golden ground through the 
leaves beside them, interrupted and dim, like the morn- 
ing light as it faded back among the branches of Eden 
when first its gates were angel-guarded long ago. And 
round the walls of the porches there are set pillars of 
variegated stones, jasper and porphyry, and deep-green 
serpentine, spotted with flakes of snow, and marbles that 
half refuse and half yield to the sunshine, Cleopatra-like, 
' their bluest veins to kiss,' the shadow as it steals back 
from them revealing line after line of azure undulation, 
a? a receding tide leaves the waved sand : their capitals 
rich with interwoven tracery, rooted knots of herbage, 
and drifting leaves of acanthus and vine, and mystical 
signs all beginning and ending in the Cross: and above 
ihem in the broad archivolts a continuous chain of lan- 
gaiage and of life, angels and the signs of heaven and the 
labors of men, each in its appointed season upon the 
earth; and above them another range of glittering pin- 
nacles, mixed with white arches edged with scarlet 
flowers, a confusion of delight, among which the breasts 
of the Greek horses are seen blazing in their breadth of 
golden strength, and the St. Mark's lion, lifted on a 
blue field covered with stars, until at last, as if in ecstasy, 
the crests of the arches break into a marble foam, and toss 
themselves far into the blue sky in flashes and wreaths 
of sculptured spray, as if the breakers on the Lido shore 



SAN MARCO 225 

had been frost-bound before they fell, and the sea-nymphs 
had inlaid them with coral and amethyst." * 

This is San Marco as it was. Eight centuries had 
harmed it little; they had but touched the building with 
a gentle hand and had mellowed its tints into tender har- 
mony ; now its new masters, cruel in their kindness, have 
restored the mosaics and scraped the marbles ; now raw 
blotches and patches of crude color glare out in vio- 
lent contrast with those parts which, owing to the intri- 
cacy of the carved work, or some other reason, it has 
been found impossible to touch. To look at St. Mark's 
now is like listening to some symphony by a master of 
harmony which is played on instruments all out of tune. 

Photographs, pictures, illustrations of all kinds, have 
■made St. Mark's so familiar to all the world that it is 
needless to attempt to give any description of its details. 

It may suffice to say that the cathedral stands on the 
site of a smaller and older building, in which the relics 
of St. Mark, the tutelary saint of Venice, had been al- 
ready enshrined. The present structure was begun about 
the year 976, and occupied very nearly a century in build- 
ing. But it is adorned with the spoils of many a classic 
structure : with columns and slabs of marble and of por- 
phyry and of serpentine, which were hewn from quarries 
in Greece and Syria, in Egypt and Libya, by the bands 
of Roman slaves, and decked the palaces and the baths, 
the temples and the theaters of Roman cities. 

The inside of St. Mark's is not less strange and im- 
pressive, but hardly so attractive as the exterior. It is 
plain in outline and almost heavy in design, a Greek cross 
in plan, with a vaulted dome above the center and each 
* Ruskin: "Stones of Venice."' 



226 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

arm. Much as the exterior of St. Mark's owes to marble, 
porphyry, and mosaic, it would be beautiful if constructed 
only of grey limestone. This could hardly be said of the 
interior: take away the choice stones from columns and 
dado and pavement, strip away the crust of mosaic, those 
richly robed figures on ground of gold, from wall and 
from vault (for the whole interior is veneered with mar- 
bles or mosaics), and only a rather dark, massive build- 
ing would remain, which would seem rather lower ana 
rather smaller than one had been led to expect. 

The other view in Venice which seems to combine best 
its peculiar character with its picturesque beauty may be 
obtained at a very short distance from St. Mark's. Leave 
the fa9ade of which we have just spoken, the three great 
masts, with their richly ornamented sockets of bronze, 
from which, in the proud days of Venice, floated the 
banners of Candia, Cyprus, and the Morea ; turn from 
the Piazza into the Piazzetta ; leave on the one hand 
the huge Campanile, more huge than beautiful (if one 
may venture to whisper a criticism), on the other the 
sumptuous portico of the Ducal Palace ; pass on beneath 
the imposing fagade of the palace itself, with its grand 
colonnade ; on between the famous columns, brought 
more than seven centuries since from some Syrian ruins, 
which bear the lion of St. Mark and the statue of St. 
Theodore, the other patron of the Republic; and then, 
standing on the Molo at the head of the Riva degli 
Schiavoni, look around ; or better still, step down into 
one of the gondolas which are in waiting at the steps, and 
push off a few dozen yards from the land : then look 
back on the fagade of the Palace and the Bridge of Sighs, 
along the busy quays of the Riva, towards the green trees 
of the Giardini Publici, look up the Piazzetta, between 



THE GRAND CANAL 227 

the twin columns, to the gHmpses of St. Mark's and the 
towering- height of the Campanile, along the fagade of the 
Royal Palace, with the fringe of shrubbery below con- 
trasting pleasantly with all these masses of masonry, up 
the broad entrance to the Grand Canal, between its rows 
of palaces, across it to the great dome of Santa Maria 
della Salute and the Dogana della Mare, with its statue 
of Fortune (appropriate to the past rather than to the 
present) gazing out from its seaward angle. Beyond 
this, yet farther away, lies the Isola San Giorgio, a group 
of plain buildings only, a church, with a dome simple 
in outline and a brick campanile almost without adorn- 
ment, yet the one thing in Venice, after the great group 
of St. Mark's and the Palace of the Dukes, which im- 
presses itself on the mind. From this point of view 
Venice rises before our eyes in its grandeur and in its 
simplicity, in its patrician and its plebeian aspects, as " a 
sea Cybele, fresh from ocean, throned on her hundred 
isles ... a ruler of the waters and their powers." 
But to leave Venice without a visit to the Grand Canal 
would be to leave the city with half the tale untold. Its 
great historic memories are gathered around the Piazza 
of St. Mark ; this is a silent witness to its triumphs in 
peace and in war, to the deeds noble and brave, of its 
rulers. But the Grand Canal is the center of its life, 
commercial and domestic; it leads from its quays to its 
Exchange, from the Riva degli Schiavoni and the 
Dogana della Mare to the Rialto. It is bordered by the 
palaces of the great historic families who were the rulers 
and princes of Venice, who made the State by their 
bravery and prudence, who destroyed it by their jeal- 
ousies and self-seeking. The Grand Canal is a genealogy 
of Venice, illustrated and engraved on stone. As one 



228 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

glides along in a gondola, century after century in the 
history of domestic architecture, from the twelfth to 
the eighteenth, slowly unrolls itself before us. There 
are palaces which still remain much as they were of old, 
.but here and there some modern structure, tasteless and 
ugly, has elbowed for itself a place among them ; not a 
few, also, have been converted into places of business, 
and are emblazoned with prominent placards proclaim- 
ing the trade of their new masters, worthy representatives 
of an age that is not ashamed to daub the cliffs of the St. 
Gothard with the advertisements of hotels and to paint 
its boulders for the benefit of vendors of chocolate ! 

But in the present era one must be thankful for any- 
thing that is spared by the greed of wealth and the vul- 
garity of a " democracy." jMuch of old Venice still re- 
mains, though little steamers splutter up and down the 
Grand Canal, and ugly iron bridges span its waters, both, 
it must be admitted, convenient, though hideous ; still the 
gondolas survive ; still one hears at every corner the boat- 
man's strange cry of warning, sometimes the only sound 
except the knock of the oar that breaks the silence of the 
liquid street. Every turn reveals something quaint and 
old-world. Now it is a market-boat, with its wicker 
panniers hanging outside, loaded with fish or piled with 
vegetables from one of the more distant islets ; now some 
little bridge, now some choice architectural fragment, a 
doorway, a turret, an oriel, or a row of richly ornate 
windows, now a tiny piazzetta leading up to the facade 
and campanile of a more than half-hidden church ; now 
the marble enclosure of a well. Still the water-carriers 
go about with buckets of hammered copper hung at each 
end of a curved pole ; still, though more rarely, some 
quaint costume may be seen in the calle; still the dark 



A VENETIAN FUNERAL 229 

shops in the narrow passages are full of goods strange to 
the eye, and bright in their season with the flowers and 
fruits of an Italian summer; still the purple pigeons 
gather in scores at the wonted hour to be fed on the 
Piazza of St. j\Iark, and, fearless of danger, convert the 
distributor of a pennyworth of maize into a walking 
dovecot. 

Still \>nice is delightful to the eyes (unhappily not al- 
ways so to the nose in many a nook and corner) notwith- 
standing the pressure of poverty and the wantonness of 
restorers. Perchance it may revive and yet see better 
days (its commerce is said to have increased since 1866) ; 
but if so, unless a change comes over the spirit of the 
age, the result will be the more complete destruction of all 
that made its charm and its wonder ; so this chapter may 
appropriately be closed by a brief sketch of one scene 
which seems in harmony with the memories of its de- 
parted greatness, a Venetian funeral. The dead no 
longer rest among the living beneath the pavement of the 
churches : the gondola takes the Venetian " about the 
streets " to the daily business of life ; it bears him away 
from his home to the island cemetery. From some nar- 
row alley, muffled by the enclosing masonry, comes the 
sound of a funeral march ; a procession emerges on to the 
piazzetta by the water-side ; the coffin is carried by long- 
veiled acolytes and nijourners with lighted torches, ac- 
companied by a brass band with clanging cymbals. A 
large gondola, ornamented with black and silver, is in 
waiting at the nearest landing place ; the band and most 
of the attendants halt by the water-side : the coffin is 
placed in the boat, the torches are extinguished ; a wilder 
wail of melancholy music, a more resonant clang of the 
cvmbals, sounds the last farewell to home and its pleas- 



230 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

ures and its work; the oars are dipped in the water, and 
another child of Venice is taken from the city of the 
hving to the city of the dead. 

A long line of islands completely shelters Venice from 
the sea, so that the waters around its walls are verv sel- 
dom ruffled into waves. The tide also rises and falls but 
little, not more than two or three feet, if so much. Thus 
no banks of pestiferous mud are laid bare at low water by 
the ebb and flow, and yet some slight circulation is main- 
tained in the canals, which, were it not for this, would 
be as intolerable as cesspools. Small boats can find their 
way over most parts of the lagoon, where in many places 
a safe route has to be marked out with stakes, but for 
large vessels the channels are few. A long island, Mala- 
mocco by name, intervenes between Venice and the Ad- 
riatic, on each side of which are the chief if not the only 
entrances for large ships. At its northern end is the 
sandy beach of the Lido, a great resort of the Venetians, 
for there is good sea bathing. But except this, Mala- 
mocco has little to offer; there is more interest in other 
parts of the lagoon. At the southern end, some fifteen 
miles away, the old town of Chioggia is a favorite ex- 
cursion. On the sea side the long fringe of narrow is- 
lands, of which Malamocco is one, 'protected by massive 
walls, forms a barrier against the waves of the Adriatic. 
On the land side is the dreary fever-haunted region of 
the Laguna Morta, like a vast fen, beyond which rise 
the serrate peaks of the Alps and the broken summits of 
the Euganean Hills. The town itself, the Roman Fossa 
Claudia, is a smaller edition of Venice, joined like it to 
the mainland by a bridge. If it has fewer relics of archi- 
tectural value it has suffered less from modern changes, 
and has retained much more of its old-world character. 



TORCELLO 231 

Murano, an island or group of islands, is a tiny edition 
of Venice, and a much shorter excursion, for it lies only 
about a mile and a half away to the north of the city. 
Here is the principal seat of the workers in glass ; here 
are made those exquisite reproductions of old Venetian 
glass and of ancient mosaic which have made the name 
of Salviati noted in all parts of Europe. Here, too, is a 
cathedral which, though it has suffered from time, neglect, 
and restoration, is still a grand relic. At the eastern end 
there is a beautiful apse enriched by an arcade and de- 
corated with inlaid marbles, but the rest of the exterior is 
plain. As usual in this part of Italy (for the external 
splendor of St. Mark's is exceptional) all richness of de- 
coration is reserved for the interior. Here columns of 
choice stones support the arches ; there is a fine mosaic in 
the eastern apse, but the glory of Murano is its floor, a su- 
perb piece of opus Alexandrimim, inlaid work of marbles 
and porphyries, bearing date early in the eleventh cen- 
tury, and richer in design than even that at St. Mark's, 
for peacocks and other birds, with tracery of strange de- 
sign, are introduced into its patterns. 

But there is another island beyond Murano, some half- 
dozen miles away from Venice, which must not be left 
unvisited. It is reached by a delightful excursion over 
the lagoon, among lonely islands thinly inhabited, the 
garden grounds of Venice, where they are not left to run 
wild with rank herbage or are covered by trees. This is 
Torcello, the ancient Altinum. Here was once a town 
of note, the center of the district when Venice was strug- 
gling into existence. Its houses now are few and ruin- 
ous ; the ground is half overgrown with poplars and 
acacias and pomegranates, red in summer-time with 
scarlet flowers. But it possesses two churches which. 



232 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

though small in size, are almost unique in their interest, 
the duomo, dedicated to St. Mary, and the church of Sta. 
Fosca. They stand side by side, and are linked together 
by a small cloister. The former is a plain basilica which 
retains its ancient plan and arrangement almost intact. 
At one end is an octagonal baptistery, which, instead of 
being separated from the cathedral by an atrium or court, 
is only divided from it by a passage. The exterior of the 
cathedral is plain ; the interior is not much more ornate. 
Ancient columns, with quaintly carved capitals support- 
ing stilted semicircular arches, divide the aisles from the 
nave. Each of these has an apsidal termination. The 
high altar stands in the center of the middle one, and be- 
hind it, against the wall, the marble throne of the bishop 
is set up on high, and is approached by a long flight of 
marble steps. On each side, filling up the remainder of 
the curve, six rows of steps rise up like the seats of an 
amphitheater, the places of the attendant priests. The 
chancel, true to its name, is formed by enclosing a part 
of the nave with a low stone wall and railing. Opinions 
differ as to the date of this cathedral. According to 
Fergusson it was erected early in the eleventh century, 
but it stands on the site of one quite four centuries older, 
and reproduces the arrangement of its predecessor if it 
does not actually incorporate portions of it. Certainly 
the columns and capitals in the nave belong, as a rule, to 
an earlier building. Indeed, they have probably done 
duty more than once, and at least some of them were 
sculptured before the name of Attila had been heard of 
in the delta of the North Italian rivers. 

The adjoining church of Sta. Fosca is hardly less in- 
teresting. An octagonal case, with apses at the eastern 
end, supports a circular .drum, which is covered by a low 



STA. FOSCA 



233 



conical roof, and a cloister or corridor surrounds the 
greater part of the church. This adds much to the beauty 
of the design, the idea, as Fergusson remarks, being evi- 
dently borrowed from the circular colonnades of the Ro- 
man temples. He also justly praises the beauty of the 
interior. In this church also, which in its present condi- 
tion is not so old as the cathedral, the materials of a 
much older building or buildings have been employed. 
But over these details or the mosaics in the cathedral we 
must not linger, and must only pause to mention the 
curious stone chair in the adjacent court which bears the 
name of the throne of Attila; perhaps, like the chair of 
the Dukes of Carinthia, it was the ancient seat of the 
chief magistrate of the island. 



XI 

ALEXANDRIA 

The bleak and barren shores of the Nile Delta — Peculiar shape 
of the city — Strange and varied picture of Alexandrian street 
life — The Place Mehemet Ali — Glorious panorama from the 
Cairo citadel — Pompey's Pillar — The Battle of the Nile — Dis- 
covery of the famous inscribed stone at Rosetta — Port Said 
and the Suez Canal. 

IT is with a keen sense of disappointment that the 
traveller first sights the monotonous and dreary- 
looking Egyptian sea-board. The low ridges of 
desolate sandhills, occasionally broken by equally unat- 
tractive lagunes, form a melancholy contrast to the beau- 
tiful scenery of the North African littoral farther west, 
which delighted his eyes a short time before, while skirt- 
ing the Algerian coast. What a change from the thickly- 
wooded hills gently sloping upwards from the water's 
edge to the lower ridges of the Atlas range, whose snow- 
clad peaks stand out clear in the brilliant atmosphere, 
the landscape diversified with cornfields and olive groves, 
and thickly studded with white farmhouses, looking in 
the distance but white specks, and glittering like dia- 
monds under the glowing rays of the sun. Now, instead 
of all this warmth of color and variety of outline, one is 
confronted by the bleak and barren shores of the Nile 
Delta. 

If the expectant traveller is so disenchanted with his 
234 



HISTORIC SITES 235 

first view of Egypt from the sea, still greater is his disap- 
pointment as the ship approaches the harbor. This bust- 
ling and painfully modern-looking town — the city of the 
great Alexander, and the gate of that land of oriental 
romance and fascinating association — might, but for an 
occasional palm-tree or minaret standing out among the 
mass of European buildings, be mistaken for some flour- 
ishing European port, say a Marseilles or Havre plumped 
down on the Egyptian plain. 

But though we must not look for picturesque scenery 
and romantic surroundings in this thriving port, there 
is yet much to interest the antiquarian and the " intelli- 
gent tourist " in this classic district. The Delta sea- 
board was for centuries the battle-ground of the Greek 
and Roman Empires, and the country between Alexan- 
dria and Port Said is strewed with historic sites. 

Alexandria itself, though a much Europeanized and a 
hybrid sort of city, is not without interest. It has been 
rather neglected by Egyptian travel writers, and conse- 
quently by the tourist, who rarely strikes out a line for 
himself. It is looked upon too much as the port of 
Cairo, just as Leghorn is of Pisa and Florence, and 
visitors usually content themselves with devoting to it 
but one day, and then rushing off by train to Cairo. 

It would be absurd, of course, to compare Alexandria, 
in point of artistic, antiquarian, and historical interest, 
to this latter city; though, as a matter of fact, Cairo is 
a modern city compared to the Alexandria of Alexan- 
der; just as Alexandria is but of mushroom growth con- 
trasted with Heliopolis, Thebes, Memphis, or the other 
dead cities of the Nile Valley of which traces still re- 
main. It has often been remarked that the ancient city 
has bequeathed nothing but its ruins and its name to 



236 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

Alexandria of to-day. Even these ruins are deplorably 
scanty, and most of the sites are mainly conjectural. 
Few vestiges remain of the architectural splendor of the 
Ptolemaic dynasty. Where are now the 4,000 palaces, 
the 4,000 baths, and the 400 theaters, about which the 
conquering general Amru boasted to his master, the 
Caliph Omar? What now remains of the magnificent 
temple of Serapis, towering over the city on its plat- 
form of one hundred steps? Though there are scarcely 
any traces of the glories of ancient Alexandria, once 
the second city of the Empire, yet the recollection of its 
splendors has not died out, and to the thoughtful 
traveller this city of memories has its attractions. Here 
St. Mark preached the Gospel and suffered martyrdom, 
and here Athanasius opposed in warlike controversy the 
Arian heresies. Here for many centuries were collected 
in this center of Greek learning and culture the greatest 
intellects of the civilized world. Here Cleopatra, '' vain- 
queur des vainqueurs du monde," held Antony willing 
captive, while Octavius was preparing his legions to 
crush him. Here Amru conquered, and here Aber- 
crombie fell. Even those whose tastes do not incline 
them to historical or theological researches are familiar, 
thanks to Kingsley's immortal romance, with the story 
of the noble-minded Hypatia and the crafty and am- 
bitious Cyril, and can give rein to their imagination by 
verifying the sites of the museum where she lectured, 
and the Csesareum where she fell a victim to the atro- 
cious zeal of Peter the Reader and his rabble of fanatical 
monks. 

The peculiar shape of the city, built partly on the 
Pharos island and peninsula, and partly on the mainland, 
is due, according to the chroniclers, to a patriotic whim 



THE MODERN CITY 237 

of the founder, who planned the city in the form of a 
chlamys, the short cloak or tunic worn by the Mace- 
donian soldiers. The modern city, though it has pushed 
its boundaries a good way to the east and west, still 
preserves this curious outline, though to a non-classical 
mind it rather suggests a star-fish. Various legends 
are extant to account for the choice of this particular 
spot for a Mediterranean port. According to the popu- 
lar version, a venerable seer appeared to the Great Con- 
queror in a dream, and quoted those lines of the Odys- 
sey which describe the one sheltered harbor on the 
northern coast of Egypt : — " a certain island called 
Pharos, that with the high-waved sea is washed, just 
against Egypt." Acting on this supernatural hint, Alex- 
ander decided to build his city on that part of the coast 
to which the Pharos isle acted as a natural breakwater, 
and where a small Greek fishing settlement was already 
established, called Rhacotis. The legend is interesting, 
but it seems scarcely necessary to fall back on a mythi- 
cal story to account for the selection of this site. The 
two great aims of Alexander were the foundation of a 
center for trade, and the extension of commerce, and 
also the fusion of the Greek and Roman nations. Eor 
the carrying out of these objects, the establishment of a 
convenient sea-port with a commanding position at the 
mouth of the Nile was required. The choice of a site 
a little west of the Nile mouths was, no doubt, due to 
his knowledge of the fact that the sea current sets east- 
ward, and that the alluvial soil brought down by the 
Nile would soon choke a harbor excavated east of the 
river, as had already happened at Pelusium. It is this 
alluvial wash which has rendered the harbors of Rosetta 
and Damietta almost useless for vessels of any draught, 



238 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

and at Port Said the accumulation of sand necessitates 
continuous dredging in order to keep clear the entrance 
of the Suez Canal. 

A well-known writer on Egypt has truly observed 
that there are three Egypts to interest the traveller. The 
Egypt of the Pharaohs and the Bible, the Egypt of the 
Caliphates and the " Arabian Nights," and the Egypt 
of European commerce and enterprise. It is to this 
third stage of civilization that the fine harbor of Alex- 
andria bears witness. Not only is it of interest to the 
engineer and the man of science, but it is also of great 
historic importance. It serves as a link between ancient 
and modern civilization. The port is Alexander the 
Great's best monument — " si quseris monumentum re- 
spice." But for this, Alexandria might now be a little 
fishing port of no more importance than the little Greek 
fishing village, Rhacotis, whose ruins lie buried beneath 
its spacious quays. It is not inaccurate to say that the 
existing harbor is the joint work of Alexander and Eng- 
lish engineers of the present century. It was originally 
formed by the construction of a vast mole (Heptastadion) 
joining the island of Pharos to the mainland; and this 
stupendous feat of engineering, planned and carried out 
by Alexander, has been supplemented by the magnificent 
breakwater constructed by England in 1872, at a cost of 
over two and a half millions sterling. After Marseilles, 
Malta, and Spezzia, it is perhaps the finest port in the 
Mediterranean, both on account of its natural advantages 
as a haven, and by reason of the vast engineering works 
mentioned above. The western harbor (formerly called 
Eunostos or "good home sailing") of which we are 
speaking — for the eastern, or so-called new harbor, is 
choked with sand and given up to native craft — has onlv 



THE EASTERN HARBOR 239 

one drawback in the dangerous reef at its entrance, and 
which should have been blasted before the breakwater 
and the other engineering works were undertaken. The 
passage through the bar is very intricate and difficult, and 
is rarely attempted in very rough weather. The eastern 
harbor will be of more interest to the artist, crowded as 
it is with the picturesque native craft and dahabyehs with 
their immense lateen sails. The traveller, so disgusted 
with the modern aspect of the city from the western har- 
bor, finds some consolation here, and begins to feel that 
he is really in the East. Formerly this harbor was alone 
available for foreign ships, the bigoted Moslems object- 
ing to the " Frankish dogs " occupying their best haven. 
This restriction has, since the time of Mehemet Ali, been 
removed, greatly to the advantage of Alexandrian trade. 

During the period of Turkish misrule — when Egypt 
under the Mamelukes, though nominally a vilayet of the 
Ottoman Empire, was practically under the dominion of 
the Beys — the trade of Alexandria had declined consider- 
ably, and Rosetta had taken away most of its commerce. 
When Mehemet Ali, the founder of the present dynasty, 
rose to power, his clear intellect at once comprehended 
the importance of this ancient emporium, and the wisdom 
of Alexander's choice of a site for the port which was 
destined to become the commercial center of three con- 
tinents. 

Mehemet is the creator of modern Alexandria. He 
deepened the harbor, which had been allowed to be 
choked by the accumulation of sand, lined it with spacious 
quays, built the massive forts which protect the coast, 
and restored the city to its old commercial importance, 
by putting it into communication with the Nile through 
the medium of the Mahmoudiyeh Canal. This vast 



240 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

undertaking was only effected with great loss of life. 
It was excavated by the forced labor of 250,000 peasants, 
of whom some 20,000 died from the heat and the severe 
toil. 

On landing from the steamer the usual scrimmage with 
Arab porters, Levantine hotel touts, and Egyptian donkey 
boys, will have to be endured by the traveller. He may 
perhaps be struck, if he has any time or temper left for 
reflection at all, with the close connection between the 
English world of fashion and the donkey, so far at least 
as nomenclature is concerned, each animal being named 
after some English celebrity. The inseparable incidents 
of disembarkation at an Eastern port are, however, fa- 
mihar to all who have visited the East; and the same 
scenes are repeated at every North African port, from 
Tangier to Port Said, and need not be further described. 

The great thoroughfare of Alexandria, a fine street 
running in a straight line from the western gate of the 
city to the Place Mehemet Ali, is within a few minutes 
of the quay. A sudden turn and this strange mingling 
of Eastern and Western life bursts upon the spectator's 
astonished gaze. This living diorama, formed by the 
brilliant and ever-shifting crowd, is in its way unique. 
A greater variety of nationalities is collected here than 
even in Constantinople or cosmopolitan Algiers. Let us 
stand aside and watch this motley collection of all nations, 
kindreds, and races pouring along this busy highway. 
The kaleidoscopic variety of brilliant color and fantastic 
costume seems at first a little bewildering. Solemn and 
impassive-looking Turks gently ambling past on gaily 
caparisoned asses, grinning negroes from the Nubian 
hills, melancholy-looking fellahs in their scanty blue 
kaftans, cunning-featured Levantines, green-turbaned 



MEHEMET ALI 241 

Shereefs, and picturesque Bedouins from the desert stalk- 
ing along in their flowing bernouses, make up the mass 
of this restless throng. Interspersed, and giving variety 
of color to this living kaleidoscope, gorgeously-arrayed 
Jews, fierce-looking Albanians, their many-colored sashes 
bristling with weapons, and petticoated Greeks. Then, 
as a pleasing relief to this mass of color, a group of 
Egyptian ladies ghde past, " a bevy of fair damsels richly 
dight," no doubt, but their faces, as well as their rich 
attire, concealed under the inevitable yashmak surmount- 
ing the balloon-like trousers. Such are the elements in 
this mammoth masquerade which make up the strange 
and varied picture of Alexandrian street life. And now 
we may proceed to visit the orthodox sights, but we have 
seen the greatest sight Alexandria has to show us. 

The Place Mehemet Ali, usually called for the sake of 
brevity the Grand Square, is close at hand. This is the 
center of the European quarter, and round it are collected 
the banks, consular offices, and principal shops. This 
square, the focus of the life of modern Alexandria, is ap- 
propriately named after the founder of the present dy- 
nasty, and the creator of the Egypt of to-day. To this 
great ruler, who at one time bid fair to become the 
founder, not only of an independent kingdom, but of a 
great Oriental Empire, Alexandria owes much of its pros- 
perity and commercial importance. The career of Mehe- 
met Ali is interesting and romantic. There is a certain 
similarity between his history and that of Napoleon I., 
and the coincidence seems heightened when we remember 
that they were both born in the same year. Each, rising 
from an obscure position, started as an adventurer on 
foreign soil, and each rose to political eminence by force 
of arms. Unlike Napoleon, however, in one important 



242 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

point, Mehemet AH founded a dynasty which still remains 
in power, in spite of the weakness and incapacity of his 
successors. To Western minds, perhaps, his great claim 
to hold a high rank in the world's history lies in his efforts 
to introduce European institutions and methods of civili- 
zation, and to establish a system of government opposed 
to Mohammedan instincts. He created an army and navy 
which were partly based on European models, stimulated 
agriculture and trade, and organized an administrative 
and fiscal system which did much towards putting the 
country on a sound financial footing. The great blot of 
his reign was no doubt the horrible massacre of the 
Mameluke Beys, and this has been the great point of 
attack by his enemies and detractors. It is difficult to 
excuse this oriental example of a coup d'etat, but it must 
be remembered that the existence of this rebellious ele- 
ment was incompatible with the maintenance of his rule, 
and that the peace of the country was as much endangered 
by the Mameluke Beys as was that of the Porte by the 
Janissaries a few years later, when a somewhat similar 
atrocity was perpetrated. 

In the middle of the square stands a handsome eques- 
trian statue of Mehemet AH which is, in one respect, 
probably unique. The Mohammedan religion demands 
the strictest interpretation of the injunction in the deca- 
logue against making " to thyself any craven image," and 
consequently a statue to a follower of the creed of Maho- 
met is rarely seen in a Mohammedan country. The erec- 
tion of this particular monument was much resented by 
the more orthodox of the Mussulman population of Alex- 
andria, and the religious feelings of the mob manifested 
themselves in riots and other hostile demonstrations. Not 
only representations in stone or metal, but any kind of 



PALACE OF RAS-ET-TEEN 243 

likeness of the human form is thought impious by Mo- 
hammedans. They believe that the author will be com- 
pelled on the Resurrection Day to indue with life the 
sacrilegious counterfeit presentment. Tourists in Egypt 
who are addicted to sketching, or who dabble in photog- 
raphy, will do well to remember these conscientious 
scruples of the Moslem race, and not let their zeal for 
bringing back pictorial mementoes of their travels in- 
duce them to take " snap shots " of mosque interiors, for 
instance. In Egypt, no doubt, the natives have too whole- 
some a dread of the Franks to manifest their outraged 
feelings by physical force, but still it is ungenerous, not 
to say unchristian, to wound people's religious prejudices. 
In some other countries of North Africa, notably in the 
interior of Morocco or Tripoli, promiscuous photography 
might be attended with disagreeable results, if not a cer- 
tain amount of danger. A tourist would find a Kodak 
camera, even with all the latest improvements, a some- 
what inefficient weapon against a mob of fanatical Arabs. 
That imposing pile standing out so prominently on the 
western horn of Pharos is the palace of Ras-et-Teen, built 
by Mehemet AH, and restored in execrable taste by his 
grandson, the ex-Khedive Ismail. Seen from the ship's 
side, the palace has a rather striking appearance. The 
exterior, however, is the best part of it, as the ornate and 
gaudy interior contains little of interest. From the upper 
balconies there is a good view of the harbor, and the 
gardens are well worth visitin^. They are prettily laid 
out, and among many other trees, olives may be seen, 
unknown in any other part of the Delta. The decora- 
tions and appointments of the interior are characterized 
by a tawdry kind of magnificence. The incongruous mix- 
ture of modern French embellishn-ients and oriental splen- 



244 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

dor gives the saloons a meretricious air, and the effect 
is bizarre and unpleasing. It is a reHef to get away from 
such obtrusive evidences of the ex-Khedive's decorative 
tastes, by stepping out on the balcony. What a forest of 
m.asts meets the eye as one looks down on the vast har- 
bor ; the inner one, a " sea within a sea," crowded with 
vessels bearing the flags of all nations, and full of anima- 
tion and movement. 

The view is interesting, and makes one realize the com- 
mercial importance of this great emporium of trade, the 
meeting-place of the commerce of three continents, yet it 
does not offer many features to distinguish it from a 
view of any other thriving port. 

For the best view of the city and the surrounding coun- 
try we must climb the slopes of Mount Caffarelli to the 
fort which crowns the summit, or make our way to the 
fortress Kom-el-Deek on the elevated ground near the 
Rosetta Gate. Alexandria, spread out like a map, lies at 
our feet. At this height the commonplace aspect of a 
bustling and thriving seaport, which seems on a close 
acquaintance to be Europeanized and modernized out of 
the least resemblance to an oriental city, is changed to a 
prospect of some beauty. At Alexandria, even more than 
at most cities of the East, distance lends enchantment to 
the view. From these heights the squalid back streets 
and the bustling main thoroughfares look like dark 
threads woven into the web of the city, relieved by the 
white mosques, with their swelling domes curving inward 
like fan palms towards the crescents flashing in the rays 
of the sun, and their tall graceful minarets piercing the 
smokeless and cloudless atmosphere. The subdued roar 
of the busy streets and quays is occasionally varied by the 
melodious cry of the muezzin. Then looking northward 



THE NILE DELTA 245 

one sees the clear blue of the Mediterranean, till it is lost 
in the hazy horizon. To the west and south the placid 
waters of the Mareotis Lake, in reality a shallow and in- 
salubrious lagoon, but to all appearances a smiling lake, 
which, with its water fringed by the low-lying sand dunes, 
reminds the spectator of the peculiar beauties of the Nor- 
folk Broads. 

Looking south beyond the lake lies the luxuriant plain 
of the Delta. The view may not be what is called pictur- 
esque, but the scenery has .its special charm. The coun- 
try is no doubt flat and monotonous, but there is no 
monotony of color in this richly cultivated plain. 

Innumerable pens have been worn out in comparison 
and simile when describing the peculiar features of this 
North African Holland. To some this huge market 
garden, with its network of canals, simply suggests a 
chess-board. Others are not content with these prosaic 
comparisons, and their more fanciful metaphor likens the 
country to a green robe interwoven with silver threads, 
or to a seven-ribbed fan, the ribs being of course the seven 
mouths of the Nile. Truth to tell, though, the full force 
of this fanciful image would be more felt by a spectator 
who is enjoying that glorious panorama from the Cairo 
citadel, as the curious triangular form of the Delta is 
much better seen from that point than from Alexandria 
at the base of the triangle. 

One may differ as to the most appropriate metaphors, 
but all must agree that there are certain elements of 
beauty about the Delta landscape. Seen, as most tourists 
do see it, in winter or spring, the green fields of waving 
corn and barley, the meadows of water-melons and cu- 
cumbers, the fields of pea and purple lupin one mass of 
colors, interspersed with the palm-groves and white 



246 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

minarets, which mark the site of the almost invisible mud 
villages, and intersected thickly with countless canals and 
trenches that in the distance look like silver threads, and 
suggest Brobdignagian filigree work, or the delicate tra- 
cery of King Frost on our window-panes, the view is im- 
pressive and not without beauty. 

In the summer and early autumn, especially during 
August and September when the Nile is at its height, the 
view is more striking though hardly so beautiful. Then 
it is that this Protean country offers its most impressive 
aspect. The Delta becomes an inland archipelago studded 
with green islands, each island crowned with a white- 
mosqued village, or conspicuous with a cluster of palms. 
The Nile and its swollen tributaries are covered with 
huge-sailed dahabyehs, which give life and variety to the 
watery expanse. 

Alexandria can boast of few " lions " as the word is 
usually understood, but of these by far the most interest- 
ing is the column known by the name of Pompey's Pillar. 
Everyone has heard of the famous monolith, which is as 
closely associated in people's minds with Alexandria as 
the Colosseum is with Rome, or the Alhambra with 
Granada. It has, of course, no more to do with the 
Pompey of history (to whom it is attributed by the un- 
lettered tourist) than has Cleopatra's Needle with that 
famous Queen, the " Serpent of old Nile ; " or Joseph's 
Well at Cairo with the Hebrew Patriarch. It owes its 
name to the fact that a certain prefect, named after 
Caesar's great rival, erected on the summit of an existing 
column a statue in honor of the horse of the Roman Em- 
peror Diocletian. There is a familiar legend which has 
been invented to accoimt for the special reason of its 
erection, which guide-book compilers are very fond of. 



POMPEY'S PILLAR 247 

According to this story, this historic animal, through an 
opportune stumble, stayed the persecution of the Alex- 
andrian Christians, as the tyrannical emperor had sworn 
to continue the massacre till the blood of the victims 
reached his horse's knees. Antiquarians and Egyptolo- 
gists are, however, given to scoffing at the legend as a 
plausible myth. 

In the opinion of many learned authorities, the shaft 
of this column was once a portion of the Serapeum, that 
famous building which was both a temple of the heathen 
god Serapis and a vast treasure-house of ancient civiliza- 
tion. It has been suggested — in order to account for its 
omission in the descriptions of Alexandria, given by Pliny 
and Strabo, who had mentioned the two obelisks of Cleo- 
patra — that the column had fallen, and that the Prefect 
Pompey had merely re-erected it in honor of Diocletian, 
and replaced the statue of Serapis with one of the Em- 
peror — or of his horse, according to some chroniclers. 
This statute, if it ever existed, has now disappeared. As 
it stands, however, it is a singularly striking and beautiful 
monument, owing to its great height, simplicity of form, 
and elegant proportions. It reminds the spectator a little 
of Nelson's Column in Trafalgar Square, and perhaps 
the absence of a statue is not altogether to be regretted 
considering the height of the column, as it might suggest 
to the irrepressible tourists who scofif at Nelson's statue 
as the " Mast-headed Admiral," some similar witticism at 
the expense of Diocletian. 

With the exception of this monolith, which, " a solitary 
column, mourns above its prostrate brethren," only a 
few fragmentary and scattered ruins of fallen columns 
mark the site of the world-renowned Serapeum. Nothing 
else remains of the famous library, the magnificent por- 



248 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

tico with its hundred steps, the vast halls, and the fotir 
hundred marble columns of that great building designed 
to perpetuate the glories of the Ptolemies. This library, 
which was the forerunner of the great libraries of modern 
times, must not be confounded with the equally famous 
one that was attached to the Museum, whose exact site is 
still a bone of contention among antiquarians. The latter 
was destroyed by accident, when Julius Caesar set fire to 
the Alexandrian fleet. The Serapeum collection survived 
for six hundred years, till its wanton destruction through 
the fanaticism of the Caliph Omar. The Arab conqueror 
is said to have justified this barbarism with a fallacious 
epigram, which was as unanswerable, however logically 
faulty, as the famous one familiar to students of English 
history under the name of Archbishop Morton's Fork. 
"If these writings," declared the uncompromising con- 
queror, " agree with the Book of God, they are useless, 
and need not be preserved; if they disagree, they are 
pernicious, and ought to be destroyed." Nothing could 
prevail against this flagrant example of a petitio prin- 
cipii, and for six months the three hundred thousand 
parchments supplied fuel for the four thousand baths of 
Alexandria. 

Hard by Pompey's Pillar is a dreary waste, dotted witlt 
curiously carved structures. This is the Mohammedan 
cemetery. As in most Oriental towns, the cemetery is at 
the west end of the town, as the Mohammedans consider 
that the quarter of the horizon in which the sun sets is 
the most suitable spot for their burying-places. 

In this melancholy city of the dead are buried also many 
of the ruins of the Serapeum, and scattered about among 
the tombs are fragments of columns and broken pedestals. 
On some of the tombs a green turban is roughly painted. 



MOHAMMEDAN CEMETERY 249 

strangely out of harmony with the severe stone carving. 
This signifies that the tomb holds the remains of a de- 
scendant of the prophet, or of a devout Moslem, who had 
himself, and not vicariously as is so often done, made 
the pilgrimage to the sacred city of Mecca. Some of the 
head-stones are elaborately carved, but most are quite 
plain, with the exception of a verse of the Koran cut in 
the stone. The observant tourist will notice on many of 
the tombs a curious little round hole cut in the stone at 
the head, which seems to be intended to form a passage 
to the interior of the vault, though the aperture is gener- 
ally filled up with earth. It is said that this passage is 
made to enable the Angel Israfel at the Resurrection to 
draw out the occupant by the hair of his head ; and the 
custom which obtains among the lower class Moslems of 
shaving the head with the exception of a round tuft of 
hair in the middle — a fashion which suggests an incipient 
pigtail or an inverted tonsure — is as much due to this 
superstition as to sanitary considerations. 

Of far greater interest than this comparatively modern 
cemetery are the cave cemeteries of El-Meks. These cata- 
combs are some four miles from the city. The route 
along the low ridge of sand-hills is singularly unpictur- 
esque, but the windmills which fringe the shore give a 
homely aspect to the country, and serve at any rate to 
break the monotony of this dreary and prosaic shore. 
We soon reach Said Pacha's unfinished palace of El- 
Meks, which owes its origin to the mania for building 
which helped to make the reign of that weak-minded ruler 
so costly to his over-taxed subjects. One glimpse at the 
bastard style of architecture is sufficient to remove any 
feeling of disappointment on being told that the building 
is not open to the public. The catacombs, which spread 



250 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

for a long distance along the seashore, and of which the 
so-called Baths of Cleopatra are a part, are very exten- 
sive, and tourists are usually satisfied with exploring a 
part. There are no mummies, but the niches can be 
clearly seen. The plan of the catacombs is curiously like 
the wards of a key. 

There are few '' sights " in Alexandria of much in- 
terest besides those already mentioned. In fact, Alexan- 
dria is interesting more as a city of sites than sights. It 
is true that the names of some of the mosques, such as 
that of the One Thousand and One Columns, built on the 
site of St. Mark's martyrdom, and the Mosque of St. 
Athanasius, are calculated to arouse the curiosity of the 
tourist; but the interest is in the name alone. The Mos- 
que of many Columns is turned into a quarantine station, 
and the Mosque of St. Athanasius has no connection with 
the great Father except that it stands on the site of a 
church in which he probably preached. 

Then there is the Coptic Convent of St. Mark, which, 
according to the inmates, contains the body of the great 
Evangelist — an assertion which would scarcely deceive 
the most ignorant and the most credulous tourist that 
ever entrusted himself to the fostering care of Messrs. 
Cook, as it is well known that St. Mark's body was re- 
moved to Venice in the ninth century. The mosque, with 
the ornate exterior and lofty minaret, in which the re- 
mains of Said Pacha are buried, is the only one besides 
those already mentioned which is worth visiting. 

The shores of the Delta from Alexandria to Rosetta 
are singularly rich in historical associations, and are 
thickly strewn with historic landmarks. The plain in 
which have been fought battles which have decided the 
fate of the whole western world, may well be called the 



MUS'TAPHA PACHA 251 

" Belgium of the East." In this circumscribed area the 
empires of the East and West struggled for the mastery, 
and many centuries later the English here wrested from 
Napoleon their threatened Indian Empire. In the few 
miles' railway journey between Alexandria and the 
suburban town of Ramleh the passenger traverses classic 
ground. At Mustapha Pacha the line skirts the Roman 
camp, where Octavius defeated the army of Antony, and 
gained for Rome a ne^v empire. Unfortunately there are 
now few ruins left of this encampment, as most of the 
stones were used by Ismail Pacha in building one of his 
innumerable palaces, now converted into a hospital and 
barracks for the English troops. Almost on this very 
spot where Octavius conquered, was fought the battle 
of Alexandria, which gave the death-blow to Napoleon's 
great scheme of founding an Eastern Empire, and con- 
verting the Mediterranean into " un lac frangais." This 
engagement was, as regards the number of troops en- 
gaged, an insignificant one ; but as the great historian of 
modern Europe has observed, " The importance of a 
triumph is not always to be measured by the number of 
men engaged. The contest of 12,000 Britons with an 
equal number of French on the sands of Alexandria, in 
its remote effect, overthrew a greater empire than that 
of Charlemagne, and rescued mankind from a more gall- 
ing tyranny than that of the Roman Emperors." * A 
few minutes more and the traveller's historical musings 
are interrupted by the shriek of the engine as the train 
enters the Ramleh station. This pleasant and salubrious 
town, with its rows of trim villas standing in their own 
well-kept grounds and gardens, the residences of Alexan- 
drian merchants, suggests a fashionable or " rising " 

* Alison's " History of Europe." 



252 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

English watering place rather than an Oriental town. 
As a residence it has no doubt many advantages, includ- 
ing a good and sufficient water supph', and frequent com- 
munication by train with Alexandria. But these are not 
the attractions which appeal to the traveller or tourist. 
The only objects of interest are the ruins of the Temple 
of Arsenoe, the wife of Ptolemy Philadelphus. Concern- 
ing this temple there is an interesting and romantic legend, 
which no doubt suggested to Pope his fanciful poem, 
" The Rape of the Lock " : — 

" Not Berenice's hair first rose so bright, 
The heavens bespanghng with dishevelled Hght." 

This pretty story, which has been immortalized by Ca- 
tullus, is as follows : — When Ptolemy Euergetes left for 
his expedition to Syria, his wife Berenice vowed to dedi- 
cate her hair to Venus Zephyrites should her husband 
return safe and sound. Her prayer was answered, and 
in fulfilment of her vow she hung within the Temple of 
Arsenoe the golden locks that had adorned her head. 
Unfortunately they were stolen by some sacrilegious 
thief. The priests were naturally troubled, the King was 
enraged, and the Queen inconsolable. However, the 
craft of Conon, the Court astronomer, discovered a way 
by which the mysterious disappearance could be satis- 
factorily explained, the priests absolved of all blame, and 
the vanity of the Queen gratified. The wily astronomer- 
courtier declared that Jupiter had taken the locks and 
transformed them into a constellation, placing it in that 
quarter of the heavens (the "Milky Way") by which 
the gods, according to tradition, passed to and from 
Olympus. This pious fraud was effected by annexino^ 
the group of stars which formed the tail of the constella- 



ABOUKIR BAY 253 

tion Leo, and declaring that this chister of stars was the 
new constellation into which Berenice's locks had been 
transformed. This arbitrary modification of the celestial 
system is known by the name of Coma Berenices, and is 
still retained in astronomical charts. 

" I 'mongst the stars myself resplendent now, 
I, who once curled on Berenice's brow, 
The tress which she, uplifting her fair arm, 
To many a god devoted, so from harm 
They might protect her new-found royal mate. 
When from her bridal chamber all elate. 
With its sweet triumph flushed, he went in haste 
To lay the regions of Assyria waste." * 

A few miles northwest of Ramleh, at the extremity of 
the western horn of Aboukir Bay, lies the village of 
Aboukir. The railway to Rosetta skirts that bay of 
glorious memory, and as the traveller passes by those 
silent and deserted shores which fringe the watery arena 
whereon France and England contended for the Empire 
of the East, he lives again in those stirring times, and the 
dramatic episodes of that famous Battle of the Nile crowd 
upon the memory. That line of deep blue water, bounded 
on the west by the rocky islet, now called Nelson's Island, 
and on the east by Fort St. Julien on the Rosetta head- 
land, marks the position of the French fleet on the ist 
of August, 1798. The fleet was moored in the form of 
a crescent close along the shore, and was covered by the 
batteries of Fort Aboukir. So confident was Brueys, the 
French Admiral, in the strength of his position, and in 
his superiority in guns and men (nearly as three to two) 
over Nelson's fleet, that he sent that famous despatch to 
Paris, declaring that the enemy was purposely avoiding 

* Sir Theodore Martin. 



254 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

him. Great must have been his dismay when the EngHsh 
fleet, which had been scouring the Mediterranean with 
bursting sails for six long weeks in search of him, was 
signaled, bearing down unflinchingly upon its formid- 
able foe — that foe with which Nelson had vowed he 
would do battle, if above water, even if he had to sail to 
the Antipodes. " By to-morrow I shall have gained a 
peerage or Westminster Abbey," were the historic words 
uttered by the English Admiral when the French fleet 
was sighted, drawn up in order of battle in Aboukir Bay. 
The soundings of this dangerous roadstead were un- 
known to him, but declaring that " where there was room 
for the enemy to swing, there must be room for us to 
anchor," he ordered his leading squadron to take up its 
position to the landward of the enemy. The remainder 
of the English fleet was ordered to anchor on the out- 
side of the enemy's line, but at close quarters, thus doub- 
ling on part of the enemy's line, and placing it in a defile 
of fire. In short, the effect of this brilliant and masterly 
disposition of the English fleet was to surround two- 
thirds of the enemy's ships, and cut them off from the 
support of their consorts, which were moored too far off 
to injure the enemy or aid their friends. The French 
Admiral, in spite of his apparently impregnable position, 
was consequently out-manoeuvred from the outset, and 
the victory of Nelson virtually assured. 

Evening set in soon after Nelson had anchored. All 
through the night the battle raged fiercely and uninter- 
mittently, " illuminated by the incessant discharge of over 
two thousand cannon," and the flames which burst from 
the disabled ships of the French squadron. The sun had 
set upon as proud a fleet as ever set sail from the shores 



BATTLE OF THE NILE 255 

of France, and morning rose upon a strangely altered 
scene. Shattered and blackened hulks now only marked 
the position they had occupied but a few hours before. 
On one ship alone, the Tonnant, the tricolor was flying. 
When the Theseus drew near to take her as prize, she 
hoisted a flag of truce, but kept her colors flying. '* Your 
battle flag or none ! " was the stern reph^ as her enemy 
rounded to and prepared to board. Slowly and reluc- 
tantly, like an expiring hope, that pale flag fluttered down 
her lofty spars, and the next that floated there was the 
standard of Old England. " And now the battle was 
over — India was saved upon the shores of Egypt — the 
career of Napoleon was checked, and his navy was anni- 
hilated. Seven years later that navy was revived, to 
perish utterly at Trafalgar — a fitting hecatomb for the 
obsequies of Nelson, whose life seemed to terminate as 
his mission was then and thus accomplished." The glories 
of Trafalgar, immortalized by the death of Nelson, have 
no doubt obscured to some extent those of the Nile. The 
latter engagement has not, indeed, been enshrined in the 
memory of Englishmen by popular ballads — those instan- 
taneous photographs, as they might be called, of the high- 
est thoughts and strongest emotions inspired by patriotism 
— but hardly any great sea-fight of modern times has been 
more prolific in brilliant achievements of heroism and 
deeds of splendid devotion than the Battle of the Nile. 
The traditions of this terrible combat have not yet died 
out among the Egyptians and Arabs, whose forefathers 
had lined the shores of the bay on that memorable night, 
and watched with mingled terror and astonishment the 
destruction of that great armament. It was with some 
idea of the moral effect the landing of English troops on 



256 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

the shores of this historic bay would have on Arabi's 
soldiery, that Lord Wolseley contemplated disembarking 
there the English expeditionary force in August, 1882. 

On the eastern horn of Aboukir Bay, on the Rosetta 
branch of the Nile, and about five miles from its mouth, 
lies the picturesque town of Rosetta. Its Arabic name is 
Rashid, an etymological coincidence which has induced 
some writers to jump to the conclusion that it is the birth- 
place of Haroun Al Rashid. To some persons no doubt 
the town would be shorn of much of its interest if disso- 
ciated from our old friend of " The Thousand and One 
Nights ; " but the indisputable fact remains that Haroun 
Al Rashid died some seventy years before the foundation 
of the town in a. d. 870. Rosetta was a port of some 
commercial importance until the opening of the Mah- 
moudiyeh Canal in 1819 diverted most of its trade to 
Alexandria. The town is not devoid of architectural in- 
terest, and many fragments of ruins may be met with in 
the half-deserted streets, and marble pillars, which bear 
signs of considerable antiquity, may be noticed built into 
the doorways of the comparatively modern houses. One 
of the most interesting architectural features of Rosetta 
is the North Gate, flanked with massive towers of a form 
unusual in Egypt, each tower being crowned with a 
conical-shaped roof. Visitors will probably have noticed 
the curious gabled roofs and huge projecting windows 
of most of the houses. It was from these projecting door- 
ways and latticed windows that such fearful execution 
was done to the British troops at the time of the ill-fated 
English expedition to Egypt in 1807. General Wauchope 
had been sent by General Eraser, who was in command 
of the troops, with an absurdly inadequate force of 1,200 
men to take the strongly-garrisoned town. Mehemet 



ROSETTA 257 

Ali's Albanian troops had purposely left the gates open 
in order to draw the English force into the narrow and 
winding streets. Their commander, without any previous 
examination, rushed blindly into the town with all his 
men. The Albanian soldiery waited till the English were 
confined in this infernal labyrinth of narrow, crooked 
streets, and then from every window and housetop rained 
down on them a perfect hail of musket-shot and rifle- 
ball. Before the officers could extricate their men from 
this terrible death-trap a third of the troops had fallen. 
Such was the- result of this rash and futile expedition, 
which dimmed the lustre of their arms in Egypt, and 
contributed a good deal to the loss of their military pres- 
tige. That this crushing defeat should have taken place 
so near the scene of the most glorious achievement of 
their arms but a few years before, was naturally thought 
a peculiar aggravation of the failure of this ill-advised 
expedition. 

To archaeological students and Egyptologists Rosetta 
is a place of the greatest interest, as it was in its neighbor- 
hood that the famous inscribed stone was found which 
furnished the clue — sought in vain for so many years by 
Egyptian scholars — to the hieroglyphic writings of 
Egypt. Perhaps none of the archaeological discoveries 
made in Egypt since the land was scientifically exploited 
by the savants attached to Napoleon's expedition, not 
even that of the mummified remains of the Pharaohs, is 
more precious in the eyes of Egyptologists and antiqua- 
rians than this comparatively modern and ugly-looking 
block of black basalt, which now reposes in the Egyptian 
galleries of the British Museum. The story of its dis- 
covery is interesting. A certain Monsieur Bouchard, a 
Erench Captain of Engineers, while making some excava- 



258 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

tions at Fort St. Julien, a small fortress in the vicinity of 
Rosetta, discovered this celebrated stone in 1799. The 
interpretation of the inscription for many years defied all 
the efforts of the most learned French savants and Eng- 
lish scholars, until, in 1822, two well-known Egyptolo- 
gists, Champollion and Dr. Young, after independent 
study and examination, succeeded in deciphering that 
part of the inscription which was in Greek characters. 
From this they learnt that the inscription was triplicate 
and trilingual : one in Greek, the other in the oldest form 
of hieroglyphics, the purest kind of " picture-writing," 
and the third in demotic characters — the last being the 
form of hieroglyphics used by the people, in which the 
symbols are more obscure than in the pure hieroglyphics 
used by the priests. The inscription, when finariy de- 
ciphered, proved to be one of comparatively recent date, 
being a decree of Ptolemy V., issued in the year 196 b. c. 
The Rosetta stone was acquired by England as part of 
the spoils of war in the Egyptian expedition of 1801. 

At Rosetta the railway leaves the coast and goes south 
to Cairo. 

If the traveller wishes to see something of the agricul- 
ture of the Delta, he would get some idea of the astonish- 
ing fertility of the country by merely taking the train to 
Damanhour, the center of the cotton-growing district. 
The journey does not take more than a couple of hours. 
The passenger travelling by steamer from Alexandria to 
Port Said, though he skirts the coast, can see no signs 
of the agricultural wealth of Egypt, and for him the 
whole of Egypt might be an arid desert instead of one 
of the most fertile districts in the whole world. The area 
of cultivated lands, which, however, extends yearly sea- 
wards, is separated from the coast by a belt composed of 



OVERFLOW OF THE NILE 259 

strips of sandy desert, marshy plain, low sandhills, and 
salt lagunes, which varies in breadth from fifteen to 
thirty miles. A line drawn from Alexandria to Damietta, 
through the southern shore of Lake Boorlos, marks ap- 
proximately the limit of cultivated land in this part of 
the Delta. The most unobservant traveller in Egypt can- 
not help perceiving that its sole industry is agriculture, 
and that the bulk of its inhabitants are tillers of the soil. 
Egypt seems, indeed, intended by nature to be the gran- 
ary and market-garden of North Africa, and the pros- 
perity of the country depends on its being allowed to 
retain its place as a purely agricultural country. The 
ill-advised, but fortunately futile, attempts which have 
been made by recent rulers to develop manufactures at 
the expense of agriculture, are the outcome of a short- 
sighted policy or perverted ambition. Experience has 
proved that every acre diverted from its ancient and 
rational use as a bearer of crops is a loss to the national 
wealth. 

That " Egypt is the gift of the Nile " has been insisted 
upon with " damnable iteration " by every writer on 
Egypt, from Herodotus downwards. According to the 
popular etymology,* the very name of the Nile ( NefXo?, 
from via t'Aus, new mud) testifies to its peculiar fer- 
tilizing properties. The Nile is all in all to the Egyptian, 
and can we wonder that Egyptian mythologists recog- 
nized in it the Creative Principle waging eternal warfare 
with Typhon, the Destructive Principle, represented by 
the encroaching desert? As Mr. Stanley Lane-Poole has 
well observed, " without the Nile there would be no 

* In Homeric times, as is shown by the Odyssey, the Nile was 
called AiyvTtTog, a name which was afterwards transferred to the 
country. 



26o THE MEDITERRANEAN 

Egypt; the great African Sahara would spread uninter- 
ruptedly to the Red Sea. Egypt is, in short, a long oasis 
worn in the rocky desert by the ever-flowing stream, and 
made green and fertile by its waters." 

At Cairo the Nile begins to rise about the third week 
in June, and the beginning of the overflow coincides with 
the heliacal rising of the Dog Star. The heavens have 
been called the clocks of the Ancients, and, according to 
some writers, it was the connection between the rise of 
the Nile and that of the Dog Star that first opened the 
way to the study of astronomy among the ancient Egyp- 
tians, so that not only was the Nile the creator of their 
country, but also of their science. The fellahs, however, 
still cherish a lingering belief in the supernatural origin 
of the overflow. They say that a miraculous drop of 
water falls into the Nile on the 17th of June, which causes 
the river to swell. Till September the river continues to 
rise, not regularly, but by leaps and bounds. In this 
month it attains its full height, and then gradually sub- 
sides till it reaches its normal height in the winter months. 

As is well known, the quality of the harvest depends 
on the height of the annual overflow — a rise of not less 
than eighteen feet at Cairo being just sufficient, while a 
rise of over twenty-six feet, or thereabouts, would cause 
irreparable damage. It is a common notion that a very 
high Nile is beneficial ; whereas an excessive inundation 
would do far more harm to the country than an abnormal 
deficiency of water. Statistics show conclusively that 
most of the famines in Egypt have occurred after an ex- 
ceptionally high Nile. Shakespeare, who, we know, is 
often at fault in matters of natural science, is perhaps 
partly accountable for this popular error : — " The higher 



DAMIETTA 261 

Nilus swells, the more it promises," he makes Antony 
say, when describing the wonders of Egypt to Csesar. 

The coast between Rosetta and Port Said is, like the 
rest of the Egyptian littoral, flat and monotonous. The 
only break in the dreary vista is afforded by the pictur- 
esque-looking town of Damietta, which, with its lofty 
houses, looking in the distance like marble palaces, has a 
striking appearance seen from the sea. The town, though 
containing some spacious bazaars and several large and 
well-proportioned mosques, has little to attract the visitor, 
and there are no antiquities or buildings of any historic 
interest. ' The traveller, full of the traditions of the Cru- 
sades, who expects to find some traces of Saladin and 
the Saracens, will be doomed to disappointment. Da- 
mietta is comparatively modern, the old Byzantine city 
having been destroyed by the Arabs early in the thir- 
teenth century, and rebuilt — at a safer distance from in- 
vasion by sea — a few miles inland, under the name of 
Mensheeyah. One of the gateways of the modern town, 
the Mensheeyah Gate, serves as a reminder of its former 
name. Though the trade of Damietta has, in common 
with most of the Delta sea-ports, declined since the con- 
struction of the Mahmoudiyeh Canal, it is still a town of 
some commercial importance, and consular representatives 
of several European powers are stationed here. To 
sportsmen Damietta offers special advantages, as it makes 
capital headquarters for the wild-fowl shooting on Men- 
zaleh Lake, which teems with aquatic birds of all kinds. 
Myriads of wild duck may be seen feeding here, and 
" big game " — if the expression can be applied to birds — 
in the shape of herons, pelicans, storks, flamingoes, etc., 
is plentiful. In the marshes which abut on the lake, speci- 



262 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

mens of the papyrus are to be found, this neighborhood 
being one of the few habitats of this rare plant. Soon 
after rounding the projecting ridge of low sand-hills 
which fringe the estuary of the Damietta Branch of the 
Nile, the noble proportions of the loftiest lighthouse of 
the Mediterranean come into view. It is fitted with one 
of the most powerful electric lights in the world, its pene- 
trating rays being visible on a clear night at a distance 
of over twenty-five miles. Shortly afterwards the forest 
of masts, apparently springing out of the desert, informs 
the passenger of the near vicinity of Port Said. 

There is, of course, nothing to see at Port Said from 
a tourist's standpoint. The town is little more than a 
large coaling station, and is of very recent growth. It 
owes its existence solely to the Suez Canal, and to the fact 
that the water at that part of the coast is deeper than at 
Pelusium, where the isthmus is narrowest. The town is 
built partly on artificial foundations on the strip of low 
sand-banks which forms a natural sea-wall protecting 
Lake Menzaleh from the Mediterranean. In the autumn 
at high Nile it is surrounded on all sides by water. An 
imaginative writer once called Port Said the Venice of 
Africa — not a very happy description, as the essentially 
modern appearance of this coaling station strikes the most 
unobservant visitor. The comparison might for its in- . 
appositeness rank with the proverbial one between Mace- 
don and Monmouth. Both Venice and Port Said are 
land-locked, and that is the only feature they have in 
common. 

The sandy plains in the vicinity of the town are, how- 
ever, full of interest to the historian and archaeologist. 
Here may be found ruins and remains of antiquity which 
recall a period of civilization reaching back more cen- 



PORT SAID 263 

ttiries than Port Said (built in 1859) ^o^s years. The 
ruins of Pelusium (the Sin of the Old Testament), the 
key of Northeastern Egypt in the Pharaonic period, are 
only eighteen miles distant, and along the shore may still 
be traced a few vestiges of the great highway — the oldest 
road in the world of which remains exist — constructed by 
Rameses II., in 1350 b. c, when he undertook his expedi- 
tion for the conquest of Syria. 

To come to more recent history. It was on the Pelu- 
siac shores that Cambyses defeated the Egyptians, and 
here some five centuries later Pompey the Great was 
treacherously murdered when he fled to Egypt, after the 
Battle of Pharsalia. 

To the southwest of Port Said, close to the wretched 
little fishing village of Sais, situated on the southern shore 
of Lake Menzaleh, are the magnificent ruins of Tanis 
(the Zoan of the Old Testament). These seldom visited 
remains are only second to those of Thebes in historical 
and archaeological interest. It is a Httle curious that 
while tourists flock in crowds to distant Thebes and Kar- 
nak, few take the trouble to visit the easily accessible ruins 
of Tanis. The ruins were uncovered at great cost of 
labor by the late Mariette Bey, and in the great temple 
were unearthed some of the most notable monuments of 
the Pharaohs, including over a dozen gigantic fallen 
obelisks — a larger number than any Theban temple con- 
tains. This vast building, restored and enlarged by Ra- 
meses II., goes back to over five thousand years. As 
Thebes declined Tanis rose in importance, and under the 
kings of the Twenty-first Dynasty it became the chief 
seat of Government. Mr. John Macgregor (Rob Roy), 
who was one of the first of modern travellers to call at- 
tention to these grand ruins, declares that of all the cele- 



264 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

brated remains he had seen none impressed him " so 
deeply with the sense of fallen and deserted magnifi- 
cence " as the ruined temple of Tanis. 

The Suez Canal is admittedly one of the greatest under- 
takings of modern times, and has perhaps effected a 
greater transformation in the world's commerce, during 
the thirty years that have elapsed since its completion, 
than has been effected in the same period by the agency 
of steam. It was emphatically the work of one man, and 
of one, too, who was devoid of the slightest technical 
training in the engineering profession. Monsieur de 
Lesseps cannot, of course, claim any originality in the 
conception of this great undertaking, for the idea of open- 
ing up communication between the Mediterranean and 
the Red Sea by means of a maritime canal is almost as 
old as Egypt itself, and many attempts were made by the 
rulers of Egypt from Sesostris downwards to span the 
Isthmus with " a bridge of water." Most of these pro- 
jects proved abortive, though there was some kind of 
water communication between the two seas in the time of 
the Ptolemies, and it was by this canal that Cleopatra 
attempted to escape after the battle of Actium. When 
Napoleon the Great occupied Egypt, he went so far as 
to appoint a commission of engineers to examine into a 
projected scheme for a maritime canal, but owing to the 
ignorance of the commissioners, who reported that there 
was a difference of thirty feet in the levels of the two 
seas — though there is really scarcely more than six inches 
— which would necessitate vast locks, and involve enor- 
mous outlay of money, the plan was given up. 

The Suez Canal is, in short, the work of one great man, 
and its existence is due to the undaunted courage, the in- 
domitable energy, to the intensity of conviction, and to 



THE SUEZ CANAL 265 

the magnetic personality of M. de Lesseps, which influ- 
enced everyone with whom he came in contact, from 
Viceroy down to the humblest fellah. This great pro- 
ject was carried out, too, not by a professional engineer, 
but by a mere consular clerk, and was executed in spite 
of the most determined opposition of politicians and 
capitalists, and in the teeth of the mockery and ridicule 
of practical engineers, who affected to sneer at the scheme 
as the chimerical dream of a vainglorious Frenchman. 

The Canal, looked at from a purely picturesque stand- 
point, does not present such striking features as other 
great monuments of engineering skill — the Forth Bridge, 
the Mont Cenis Tunnel, or the great railway which scales 
the highest peaks of the Rocky Mountains. This " huge 
ditch;^- as it has been contemptuously called, " has not 
indeed been carried over high mountains, nor cut through 
rock-bound tunnels, nor have its waters been confined by 
Titanic masses of masonry." In fact, technically speak- 
ing, the name canal as applied to this channel is a mis- 
nomer. It has nothing in common with other canals — 
no locks, gates, reservoirs, nor pumping engines. It is 
really an artificial strait, or a prolongation of an arm 
of the sea. We can freely concede this, yet to those of 
imaginative temperament there are elements of romance 
about this great enterprise. It is the creation of a nine- 
teenth-century wizard who, with his enchanter's wand — 
the spade — has transformed the shape of the globe, and 
summoned the sea to flow uninterruptedly from the Medi- 
terranean to the Indian Ocean. Then, too, the most 
matter-of-fact traveller who traverses it can hardly fail 
to be impressed with the genius loci. Every mile of the 
Canal passes through a region enriched by the memories 
of events which had their birth in the remotest ages of 



266 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

antiquity. Across this plain four thousand years ago 
Abraham wandered from far-away Ur of the Chaldees, 
Beyond the placid waters of Lake Menzaleh lie the ruins 
of Zoan, where Moses performed his miracles. On the 
right lies the plain of Pelusium, across which Rameses II. 
led his great expedition for the conquest of Syria; and 
across this sandy highway the hosts of Persian, Greek, 
and Roman conquerors successively swept to take posses- 
sion of the riches of Egypt. In passing through the Canal 
at night — the electric light seeming as a pillar of fire to 
the steamer, as it swiftly, but silently, ploughs its course 
through the desert — the strange impressiveness of the 
scene is intensified. " The Canal links together in sweep- 
ing contrast the great Past and the greater Present, point- 
ing to a future which we are as little able to di<Pine, as 
were the Pharaohs or Ptolemies of old to forecast the 
wonders of the twentieth century." 



XII 

MALTA 

" England's Eye in the Mediterranean " — ^Vast systems of forti- 
fications — Sentinels and martial music — The Strada Reale of 
Valletta— Church of St. John— St. Elmo— The Military Hos- 
pital, the "very glory of Malta" — Citta Vecchia — Saint Paul 
and his voyages. 

THERE is a difference of opinion among voy- 
agers as to whether it is best to approach Malta 
by night or by day ; whether there is a greater 
charm in tracing the outline of " England's Eye in the 
Mediterranean " by the long, undulating lines of light 
along its embattled front, and then, as the sun rises, to 
permit the details to unfold themselves, or to see the 
entire mass of buildings and sea walls and fortifications 
take shape according to the rapidity with which the ship 
nears the finest of all the British havens in the Middle 
Sea. Much might be said for both views, and if by 
" Malta " is meant its metropolis, then the visitor would 
miss a good deal who did not see the most picturesque 
portion of the island in both of these aspects. And by 
far the majority of those who touch at Valletta, on their 
way to or from some other place, regard this city as 
" the colony " in miniature. Many, indeed, are barely 
aware that it has a name apart from that of the island 
on which it is built ; still fewer that the " Villa " of 
La Valletta is only one of four fortified towns all run 

267 



268 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

into one, and that over the surface of this thickly pop- 
ulated clump are scattered scores of villages, while their 
entire coasts are circled by a ring of forts built wherever 
the cliffs are not steep enough to serve as barriers against 
an invader. On the other hand, while there is no spot 
in the Maltese group half so romantic, or any " casal " 
a tithe as magnificent as Valletta and its suburbs, it is a 
little unfortunate for the scenic reputation of the chief 
island-fortress that so few visitors see any other part of 
it than the country in the immediate vicinity of its prin- 
cipal town. For, if none of the islands are blessed with 
striking scenery, that of Malta proper is perhaps the 
least attractive. 

Though less than sixty miles from Sicily, these placid 
isles, oft though they have been shaken by earthquakes, 
do not seem to have ever been troubled by the volcanic 
outbursts of Etna. Composed of a soft, creamy rock, 
dating from the latest geological period, the elephants 
and hippopotami disinterred from their caves show that, 
at a time when the Mediterranean stretched north and 
south over broad areas which are now dry land, these 
islands were still under water, and that at a date com- 
paratively recent, before the Straits of Gibraltar had been 
opened, and when the contracted Mediterranean was only 
a couple of lakes Malta was little more than a peninsula 
of Africa. Indeed, so modern is the group as we know 
it, that within the human era Comino seems to have 
been united with the islands on each side of it. For, 
as the deep wheel-ruts on the opposite shores of the two 
nearer islands, even at some distance in the water, dem- 
onstrate, the intervening straits have either been recently 
formed, or were at one period so shallow as to be ford- 
able. 



BENGEMMA MOUNTAINS 269 

But if it be open to doubt whether night or day is the 
best time to make our first acquaintance with Malta, 
there can be none as to the season of the year when it 
may be most advantageously visited ; for if the tourist 
comes to Malta in spring, he will find the country bright 
with flowers, and green with fields of wheat and barley, 
and cumin and " sulla " clover, or cotton, and even with 
plots of sugar-cane, tobacco, and the fresh foliage of 
vineyards enclosed by hedges of prickly pears ready to 
burst into gorgeous blossom. Patches of the famous 
Maltese potatoes flourish cheek by jowl with noble crops 
of beans and melons. Figs and pomegranates, peaches, 
pears, apricots, and medlars are in blossom ; and if the 
curious pedestrian peers over the orchard walls, he may 
sight oranges and lemons gay with the flowers of which 
the fragrance is scenting the evening air. But in au- 
tumn, when the birds of passage arrive for the winter, 
the land has been burnt into barrenness by the summer 
sun of the scorching sirocco. The soil, thin, but 
amazingly fertile, and admirably suited by its spongy 
texture to retain the moisture, looks white and parched 
as it basks in the hot sunshine ; and even the gardens, 
enclosed by high stone walls to shelter them from the 
torrid winds from Africa, or the wild " gregale " from 
the north, or the Levanter which sweeps damp and de- 
pressing towards the Straits of Gibraltar, fail to relieve 
the dusty, chalk-like aspect of the landscape. Hills there 
are — they are called the " Bengemma mountains " by the 
proud Alaltese — but they are mere hillocks to the scoffer 
from more Alpine regions, for at Ta-l'aghlia, the highest 
elevation in Malta, 750 feet is the total tale told by the 
barometer while it is seldom that the sea cliffs reach 
half that height. The valleys in the undulating surface 



270 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

are in proportion, and even they and the Httle glens worn 
by the watercourses are bald, owing- to the absence of 
wood ; for what timber grew in ancient times has long 
ago been hewn down, and the modern Maltee has so 
inveterate a prejudice against green leaves which are not 
saleable that he is said to have quietly uprooted the trees 
which a paternal Government planted for the supposed 
benefit of unappreciative children. Hence, with the ex- 
ception of a bosky grove around some ancient palace of 
the knights, or a few carob trees, so low that the goats 
in lack of humbler fodder can, as in Morocco, climb into 
them for a meal, the rural districts of Malta lack the 
light and shade which forests afiford, just as its arid 
scenery is unrelieved either by lake, or river, or by any 
brook worthy of the name. However, as the blue sea, 
running into inlet and bay, or ending the vista of some 
narrow street, or driving the spray before the " tempes- 
tuous " wind, called " Euroklydon," is seldom out of 
sight, the sparkle of inland water is less missed than it 
would be were the country larger. 

But Malta proper is only one of the Maltese group. 
As the geography books have it, there are three main 
islands, Malta, Gozo, and between them the little one of 
Comino, which with Cominetto, a still smaller islet close 
by, seems to have been the crest of a land of old, sub- 
merged beneath the sea. The voyager is barely out of 
sight of Sicily before the faint outlines of these isles are 
detected, like sharply defined clouds against a serenely 
blue ■ sky. Yet, undeniably, the first view of Malta is 
disappointing ; for with Etna fresh in the memory of the 
visitor from one direction, and the great Rock of Gi- 
braltar vivid in the recollection of those arriving from 
the other end of the Mediterranean, there is litde in any 



HAGRA TAL GENERAL 271 

of the three islands to strike the imagination. For most 
of the picturesqueness of Malta is due to the works of 
man, and all of its romance to the great names and 
mighty events with which its historic shores are as- 
sociated. But there are also around the coasts of this 
major member of the Maltese clump the tiny Filfla, with 
its venerable church ; the Pietro Negro, or Black Rock ; 
Gzeier sanctified by the wreck of St. Paul ; and Scoglio 
Marfo, on which a few fishermen encamp, or which 
grow grass enough for some rabbits or a frugal goat or 
two ; and, great in fame though small in size, the Hagra 
tal General, or Fungus Rock, on which still flourishes 
that curious parasitic plant, the Fungus Melitensis of 
the old botanists, the Cynomormm coccineum of latter- 
day systematists. The visitor who has the curiosity to 
land on the rock in April or May will find it in full 
flower, and perhaps, considering its ancient reputation, 
may be rather disappointed with the appearance of a 
weed which at one time enjoyed such a reputation as a 
stauncher of blood and a sovereign remedy for a host of 
other diseases that the Knights of Malta stored it care- 
fully as a gift for friendly monarchs and to the hospitals 
of the island. It is less valued in our times, though until 
very recently the keeper of the rock on which it flourishes 
most abundantly was a permanent official in the colonial 
service. The place indeed is seldom profaned nowadays 
by human feet ; for the box drawn in a pulley by two 
cables, which was the means of crossing the hundred 
and fifty feet of sea between the rocks and the shore of 
Dueira, was broken down some years ago, and has not 
since been renewed. But, apart from these scientific 
associations of this outlier of Gozo, the second largest 
island of the Maltese group is worthy of being more 



272 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

frequently examined than it is, albeit the lighthouse of 
Ta Giurdan is familiar enough to every yachtsman in 
the " Magnum Mare." For it is the first bit of Malta 
seen from the west, and the last memory of it which the 
home-coming exile sights as he returns with a lighter 
heart from the East. Yet except for its classical mem- 
ories (it was the fable isle of Calypso, the Gaulos of the 
Greeks, the Gaulum of the Romans, and the Ghaudex of 
the Arabs, a name still in use among the natives), the 
tourist in search of the picturesque will not find a great 
deal to gratify him in Gozo, with its bay-indented shore, 
rugged in places, but except in the southern and western 
coast rarely attaining a height of three hundred feet 
above the sea. Still, its pleasing diversity of hill and 
dale, its occasional groves of trees, and the flourishing 
gardens from which Valletta market is supplied with a 
great portion of its vegetables, lend an appearance of 
rural beauty to Gozo seldom seen or altogether lacking 
in the rest of the group. Gozo appears to have suffered 
less from foreign invasions than Malta or even Comino. 
Its goat cheese still preserves something of the reputa- 
tion that comestible obtained in days when the world 
had a limited acquaintance with dairy produce, and the 
" Maltese jacks," potent donkeys (the very antipodes of 
their tiny kindred on the Barbary coast) are mostly ex- 
ported from this spot. But, like the peculiar dogs and 
cats of the group, they are now getting scarce. 

The appearance of the Gozitans also is somewhat dif- 
ferent from that of their countrymen elsewhere, and they 
speak the Maltese tongue with a closer approach to the 
Arabic than do the inhabitants of the other islands, 
whose speech has become intermingled with that of every 
Mediterranean race, from the Tyrians to the Italians, 



GOZO 273 

though the basis of it is unquestionably Phoenician, and 
is gradually getting dashed with the less sonorous lan- 
guage of their latest rulers. Indeed, the lamps in daily 
use are identical in shape with the earthenware ones dis- 
interred from the most ancient of Carthaginian tombs, 
and until lately a peculiar jargon, allied to Hebrew, and 
known as " Braik," was spoken at Casal Garbo, an in- 
land village not far from the bay off which lies the 
General's Rock. But the Gozo folk nowadays trade 
neither in tin nor in purple, their gaily-painted boats 
crossing the Straits of Freghi with no more romantic 
cargoes than cabbages and cucumbers for His Majesty's 
ships; and the swarthy damsels who sit at the half-doors 
of the white houses are intent on nothing so much as 
the making of the famous Maltese lace. Except, how- 
ever, in the strength, industry, and thrift of the Gozitans, 
there is little in this island to remind the visitor of their 
Phoenician forefathers, and in a few years, owing to the 
steady intercourse which daily steam communication has 
brought about between them and their less sophisticated 
countrymen, the " Giant's Tower " (the ruins of a 
temple of Astarte) at Casal Xghara will be 'about the 
only remnant of these pre-historic settlers. But Casal 
Nadur, with its robust men and handsome women, the 
Tierka Zerka or Azure Window, a natural arch on the 
seashore, and Rabato, the little capital in the center of 
the island, which, in honor of the Jubilee year, changed 
its name for that of Victoria, are all worthy of a walk 
farther afield than Migiarro, or the " carting place," ofif 
which the Valletta steamer anchors. From the ruined 
walls of the citadel the visitor can survey Gozo with its 
conical hills, flattened at the top owing to the wearing 
away of the upper limestone by the action of the weather 



274 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

and sinking of the underlying greensand, the whole re- 
calling a volcano-dotted region. Then, if he cares to 
tarry so long, the sightseer may from this pleasant center 
tramp or drive to the Bay of Ramla, in a rock overhang- 
ing which is another " Grotto of Calypso," or to the Bay 
of Marsa-il-Forno, or to the Bay of Xlendi, through a 
well-watered ravine filled with fruit-trees, a walk which 
offers an opportunity of seeing the best cliff scenery in the 
island; or, finally, to the Cala Dueira, hard by which is 
the General's Rock, which (as we already know) forms 
one of the chief lions of Gozo. Comino with its caves 
will not detain the most ''eager of sightseers very long, 
and its scanty industries, incapable of supporting more 
than forty people, are not calculated to arouse much en- 
thusiasm. 

The shortest route to Valletta from Migiarro is to 
Marfa; but most people will prefer to land at once at 
Valletta. Here the change from the quiet islands to 
the busy metropolis of the group is marked. Every- 
thing betokens the capital of a dependency which, if not 
itself wealthy, is held by a wealthy nation, and a fortress 
upon which money has been lavished by a succession of 
military masters without any regard to the commercial 
aspects of the outlay. For if Malta has. been and must 
always continue to be a trading center, it has for ages 
never ceased to be primarily a place of arms, a strong- 
hold to the defensive strength of which every other in- 
terest must give way. All the public buildings are on a 
scale of substantiality which, to the voyager hitherto 
familiar only with Gibraltar, is rather striking. Even 
the residences of the officials are finer than one would 
expect in a " colony " (though there are no colonists, 
and no room for th?m) with a population less than 



VALLETTA 275 

170,000, and a revenue rarely exceeding £250,000 per 
annum. Dens, vile beyond belief, there are no doubt in 
Valletta. But these are for the most part in narrow 
bye-lanes, which have few attractions for the ordinary 
visitor, or in the Manderaggio, a quasi-subterranean dis- 
trict, mostly below sea-level, where the houses are often 
without windows and conveniences even more important ; 
so that there is an unconscious grimness in the prophetic 
humor which has dubbed this quarter of Valletta (two- 
and-a-half acres in area, peopled by 2,544 persons) "the 
place of cattle." Yet though the ninety-five square miles 
of the Maltese islands are about the most densely popu- 
lated portions of the earth, the soil is so fertile, and the 
sources of employment, especially since the construction 
of the Suez Canal, so plentiful, that extreme penury is 
almost unknown, while the rural population seem in the 
happy mean of being neither rich nor poor. 

But the tourist who for the first time surveys Valletta 
from the deck of a steamer as she anchors in the Quaran- 
tine Harbor, or still better from the Grand Harbor on the 
other side of the peninsula on which the capital is built, 
sees little of this. Scarcely is the vessel at rest before 
she is surrounded by a swarm of the peculiar high- 
prowed " dghaisas," or Maltese boats, the owners of 
which, standing while rowing, are clamorous to pull the 
passenger ashore ; for Malta, like its sister fortress at the 
mouth of the Mediterranean, does not encourage wharves 
and piers, alongside of which large craft may anchor 
and troublesome crews swarm when they are not de- 
sired. Crowds of itinerant dealers, wily people with all 
the supple eagerness of the Oriental, and all the lack of 
conscience which is the convenient heritage of the trader 
of the Middle Sea, establish themselves on deck, ready 



276 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

to part with the laces, and filigrees, and corals, and 
shells, and apocryphal coins of the Knights of St. John, 
for any ransom not less than twice their value. But in 
Malta, as elsewhere in the Mediterranean ports, there 
are always two prices, the price for which the resident 
obtains anything, and the price which the stranger is 
asked to pay. To th^se tariffs a new one has of late 
years been added, and this is that paradisaical figure, 
that fond legend of a golden age invoked only when the 
buyer is very eager, or very verdant, or very rich, " the 
price that Lady Brassey paid." However, even when 
the sojourner fancies that he has made a fair bargain 
(and the appraisements fall suddenly as the last bell 
begins to ring), the pedler is well in pocket, so well, in- 
deed, that it has been calculated every steamer leaves be- 
hind it something like two hundred pounds in cash. 

But if the rubbish sold in Valletta can be bought quite 
as good and rather more cheaply in London, Valletta 
itself must be seen in situ. The entrance to either of 
the harbors enables one to obtain but a slight idea of the 
place. It seems all forts and flat-roofed buildings piled 
one above the other in unattractive terraces. There are 
guns everywhere, and, right and left, those strongholds 
which are the final purposes of cannon. As the steamer 
creeps shrieking into " Port Marsa-Musciet " (the " Port " 
is superfluous, since the Arabic " Marsa '' means the same 
thing) or Quarantine Harbor, it passes Dragut Point, 
with Fort Tigne on the right and Fort St. Elmo on the 
left, in addition to Fort Manoel and the Lazaretto on an 
island straight ahead. Had our destination been the 
Grand Harbor on the other side of Valletta, Fort Ricasoli 
and Fort St. Angelo would have been equally in evi- 
dence, built on two of the various projections which in- 



FORTIFICATIONS 277 

tersect the left side of that haven. But the forts are, as 
it were, only the ganglia of the vast systems of fortifica- 
tions which circle every creek and bay and headland of 
Valletta and its offshoots. Ages of toil, millions of 
money, and the best talent of three centuries of engineers 
have been lavished on the bewildering mass of curtains 
and horn-works, and ravelins and demilunes, and ditches 
and palisades, and drawbridges and bastions, and earth- 
works, which meet the eye in profusion enough to have 
delighted the soul of Uncle Toby. Sentinels and mar- 
tial music are the most familiar of sights and sounds, 
and after soldiers and barracks, sailors and war-ships, 
the most frequent reminders that Malta, like Gibraltar, 
is a great military and naval station. But it is also in 
possession of some civil rights unknown to the latter. 
Among these is a legislature with limited power and 
boundless chatter, and, what is of more importance to 
the visitor, the citizens can go in and out of Valletta at 
all hours of the day and night, no raised drawbridge or 
stolid portcullis barring their movements in times of 
peace. The stranger lands without being questioned as 
to his nationality, and in Malta the Briton is bereft of the 
Civis-Ronianus-SMn sort of feeling he imbibes in Gi- 
braltar; for here the alien can circulate as freely as the 
lords of the soil. But the man who wishes to explore 
Valletta must be capable of climbing; for from the land- 
ing place to the chief hotel in the main street the ascent 
is continuous, and for the first part of the way is by a 
flight of stairs. Indeed, these steps are so often called 
into requisition that one can sympathize with the fare- 
well anathema of Bryon as he limped up one of these 
frequent obstacles to locomotion. 



278 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

" Adieu ! ye cursed streets of stairs ! 
(How surely he who mounts you swears)." 

The reason of this pecuHar construction is that Valletta 
is built on the ridge of Mount Scebarras, so that the 
ascent from the harbor to the principal streets running 
along the crest of the hill is necessarily steep. The re- 
sult is, however, a more picturesque town than would 
have been the case had the architect who laid out the 
town when Jean de La Valette, Grand Master of the 
Knights, resolved in 1566 to transfer the capital here 
from the center of the island, been able to find funds to 
form a plateau by leveling down the summit of the 
mound. Hence Valletta is composed of streets running 
longitudinally and others crossing the former at right 
angles. Most of these are eked out by steps ; one, the 
Strada Santa Lucia, is made up of flights of them, and 
none are level from end to end. The backbone of the 
town and the finest of its highways is the Strada Reale, 
or Royal Street, which in former days was known as the 
Strada San Georgio, and during the brief French occu- 
pation as " the Street of the Rights of Man." Seven 
main streets run parallel with it, while eleven at right 
angles extend in straight lines across the promontory 
from harbor to harbor. The Strada Reale, with the 
Strada Mercanti alongside of it are, however, the most 
typical bits of the capital, and the visitor who con- 
scientiously tramps through either, with a peep here and 
there up or down the less important tran-sverse " strade," 
obtains a fair idea of the city of La Valette, whose statue 
stands with that of L'Isle Adam over the Porta Reale 
at the farther end of the street bearing that name. 
Here the first barrier to an invasion from the landward 



THE STRADA REALE 279 

side is met with in the shape of a deep ditch hewn through 
the soHd rock, right across the peninsula from the one 
harbor to the other, cutting off if necessary the suburb of 
Floriana from the town proper, though Floriana, with 
its rampart gardens, parade ground, and barracks, is 
again protected on the inland aspect by other of the great 
fortifications which circle the seashore everywhere. 

However, the drawbridge is down at present, and a 
long stream of people, civil and military, are crossing 
and recrossing it, to and from the Strada Reale. For 
this street is the chief artery through which is ever circu- 
lating the placid current of Valletteese life. Soldiers in 
the varied uniforms of the regiments represented in the 
garrison are marching backwards and forwards, to or 
from parade, or to keep watch on the ramparts, or are 
taking their pleasure afoot, or in the neat little covered 
" carrozzellas " or cabs of the country, in which, unlike 
those of Gibraltar of a similar build, a drive can be 
taken at the cDst of the coin which, according to Sydney 
Smith, was struck to enable a certain thrifty race to be 
generous. Sailors from the war-ships in the Grand 
Harbor, and merchant seamen on a run ashore, are 
utilizing what time they can spare from the grog shops 
in the lower town to see the sights of the place. Cab- 
men and carmen driving cars without sides, and always 
rushing at the topmost speed of their little horses, scatter 
unwary pedestrians. Native women, with that curious 
" faldetta," or one-sided hood to their black cloaks which 
is a characteristic of Malta as the mantilla is of Spain, 
pass side by side with English ladies in the latest of 
London fashions, or sturdy peasant women, returning 
from market, get sadly in the way of the British nurse- 
maid dividing her attention in unequal proportions be- 



28o THE MEDITERRANEAN 

tween her infantile charges and the guard marching for 
" sentry-go " to the ramparts. Flocks of goats, their 
huge udders almost touching the ground, are strolling 
about to be milked at the doors of customers. Maltese 
laborers, brown little men, bare-footed, broad-shouldered, 
and muscular, in the almost national dress of a Glengarry 
cap, cotton trousers, and flannel shirt, with scarlet sash, 
coat over one arm, and little earrings, jostle the smart 
officers making for the Union Club, or the noisy " globe- 
trotter " just landed from the steamer which came to 
anchor an hour ago. A few snaky-eyed Hindoos in 
gaily embroidered caps invite you to inspect their stock 
of ornamental wares, but except for an Arab or two 
from Tunis, or a few hulking Turks from Tripoli with 
pilot jackets over their barracans, the Strada Reale of 
Valletta has little of that human picturesqueness im- 
parted to the Water-port Street of Gibraltar by the 
motley swarms of Spaniards, and Sicilians, and negroes, 
and Moors, and English who fill it at all periods between 
morning gun-fire to the hour when the stranger is ousted 
from within the gates. Malta being a most religiously 
Roman Catholic country, priests and robe-girded Car- 
melites are everywhere plentiful, and all day long the 
worshipers entering and leaving the numerous churches, 
with the eternal " jingle-jingle " of their bells, remind one 
of Rabelais's description of England in his day. At every 
turning the visitor is accosted by whining beggars whose 
pertinacit}^ is only equaled by that of the boot-blacks 
and cabmen, who seem to fancy that the final purpose of 
man in Alalta is to ride in carrozzellas with shining 
shoes. In Gibraltar we find a relief to the eye in the 
great rock towering overhead, the tree-embosomed cot- 
tages nestling on its slopes, or the occasional clumps of 



CHURCH OF ST. JOHN 281 

palms in the hollows. These are wanting to the chief 
strada of Valletta. In architectural beauty the two 
streets cannot, however, be compared. The Water-port 
is lined with houses, few of which are handsome and 
most of which are mean, while the scarcity of space 
tends to crowd the narrow " ramps " as thickly as any 
lane in Valletta. It is seldom that the shops are better 
than those of a petty English town, and altogether the 
civil part of the rock fortresses has not lost the impress 
of having been reared by a people with but little of the 
world's wealth to spare, and kept alive by a population 
who have not a great deal to spend. 

The main street of Valletta on the other hand is lined 
by good, and in most cases by handsome, houses, fre- 
quently with little covered stone balconies which lend a 
peculiar character to the buildings. The yellow lime- 
stone is also pleasant to look upon, while the many palaces 
which the comfort-loving knights erected for their shelter, 
impart to Valletta the appearance of a " a city built by 
gentlemen for gentlemen." Here on the right is the 
pretty Opera House (open, in common with the private 
theaters, on Sunday and Saturday alike), and on the 
other side of the road the Auberge of the Language of 
Provence, now occupied by the Union Club. A little 
farther on, in an open space shaded with trees, is the 
Church of St. John, on which the knights lavished their 
riches, and still, notwithstanding the pillage of the French 
troops in 1798, rich in vessels of gold and silver, crosses, 
pixes, jewels, monuments, chivalric emblazonments, 
paintings, carven stone and other ecclesiastical embellish- 
ments, though like the wealthy order of military monks, 
whose pride it was, the Church of St. John is ostenta- 
tiously plain on the outside. The Auberge d'Auvergne, 



282 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

now the Courts of Justice, is on the other side of the 
street, and hard by, a building which was formerly the 
Treasury of the Knights, the storehouse into which was 
gathered the contributions of the Commanderies through- 
out Europe. The Pubhc Library fronted by some trees 
a Httle way back from the road is interesting from its 
containing the books of the BaiHff Louis de Tencin, the 
Grand Master de Rohan (who erected it), and of many 
of the more lettered knights, besides a good collection of 
the island antiquities. Close to it is the palace of the 
Grand Master, now the residence of the Governor, or in 
part utilized as Government offices. The courtyards, 
planted with oranges, euphorbias, hibiscus, and other 
greenery, and the walls covered with Bougainvillia, have 
a delightfully cool appearance to the pedestrian who 
enters from the hot street ; while the broad marble stair- 
case, the corridors lined with portraits and men-at-arms, 
and pictures representing the warlike exploits of the 
knightly galleys, the armory full of ancient weapons, and 
majolica vases from the Pharmacy, and the numerous 
relics of the former rulers of the island, are worthy of a 
long study by those interested in art or antiquity. The 
Council Chamber also merits a visit, for there may be 
seen the priceless hangings of Brussels tapestry. And 
last of all, the idlest of tourists is not likely to neglect 
the Llall of St. Michael and St. George, the frescoes 
celebrating the famous deeds of the Order of St. John, 
and the quaint clock in the interior court, which, accord- 
ing to Maltese legend, was brought from Rhodes when 
that island was abandoned after a resistance only less 
glorious than a victory. For, as Charles V. exclaimed 
when he heard of the surrender which led to Malta be- 
coming the home of the knights, " there has been nothing 



KNIGHTS OF MALTA 283 

in the world so well lost as Rhodes." The main guard, 
with its pompous Latin inscription recording how 
" Magnse et invictse Britannise Melitensium Amor et 
Europse vox Has insulas confirmant An mdcccxiv/' is 
exactly opposite the palace. But when the visitor sees 
the wealth of art which the knights were forced to leave 
behind them, he is apt to be puzzled how the Maltese, 
who contributed not one baiocco to buy it, or to build 
these palaces or fortifications, could either through 
" Amor," or that necessity which knows no law, make 
them over to us, or how " Magna et invicta Britannia " 
could accept without compensation the property of the 
military monks, whose Order, bereft of wealth and in- 
fluence, still exists and claims with the acquiescence of 
at least one court to rank among the sovereign Powers 
of Christendom. The knights are, however, still the 
greatest personalities in Malta. We come upon them, 
their eight-pointed cross, and their works at every step. 
Their ghosts still walk the highways. The names of the 
Grand Masters are immortalized in the cities they founded 
and in the forts they reared. Their portraits in the rude 
art of the Berlin lithographer hang on even the walls of 
the hotels. Their ecclesiastical side is in evidence by 
the churches which they reared, by the hagiological 
names which they gave to many of the streets, by the 
saintly figures with which, in spite of three-fourths of a 
century of Protestant rulers, still stand at the corners, 
and by the necessity which we have only recently found 
to come to an understanding with the Pope as to the 
limits of the canon law in this most faithful portion of 
his spiritual dominions. 

On the other hand, the secular side of the Order is 
quite as prominent. Here, for instance, after descend- 



284 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

ing some steps which serve as a footpath, we come to 
the Fort of St. Elmo, which terminates the Strada Reale. 
But long before there was any regular town on Monte 
Sceberras, when the capital was in the center of the 
island, this fortress on the point midway between the two 
harbors was a place round which the tide of battle often 
swir'ed, when Paynim and Christian fought for the 
mastery of the island. Of all these sieges the greatest 
is that of 1565, a year before the town of Valletta was 
laid out. Twice previously, in 1546 and 1551, the Turks 
had endeavored to expel the knights, but failed to effect 
a landing. But in the year mentioned Sultan Solyman, 
The Magnificent, the same Solyman who thirty-four 
years before had driven them from Rhodes, determined 
to make one supreme effort to dislodge the Order from 
their new home. The invading fleet consisted of a 
hundred and thirty-eight vessels under the Renegade 
Piali, and an army of thirty-three thousand men under 
the orders of Mustafa Pasha. These sea and land 
forces were soon afterwards increased by the arrival 
of two thousand five hundred resolute old Corsairs 
brought from Algiers by Hassan Pasha, and eighteen 
ships containing sixteen hundred men under the still 
more famous Dragut, the Pirate Chief of Tripoli, who, 
by the fortunes of war, was in a few years later fated to 
toil as a galley-slave in this very harbor. The siege 
lasted for nearly four months. Every foot of ground 
was contested with heroic determination until it was evi- 
dent that Fort St. Elmo could no longer hold out. Then 
the knights, worn and wounded, and reduced to a mere 
remnant of their number, received the viaticum in the 
little castle chapel, and embracing each other went forth 
on the ramparts to meet whatver lot was in store for 



ST. ELMO 285 

them. But St. Angelo and Senglea, at the end of the 
peninsula on which Isola is now built, held out until, on 
the arrival of succor from Sicily, the Turks withdrew. 
Of the forty thousand men who on the i8th of May had 
sat down before the Castle, not ten thousand re-em- 
barked ; whilst of the eight or nine thousand defenders, 
barely six hundred were able to join in the Te Deum of 
thanks for the successful termination of what was one 
of the greatest struggles in ancient or modern times. 
Then it was that " the most illustrous and most Reverend 
Lord, Brother John de la Valette," to quote his titles in- 
scribed over the Porta Reale. determined to lay out the 
new city, so that, before twelve months passed, the 
primeval prophecy that there would be a time when 
every foot of land in Monte Sceberras would be worth 
an ounce of silver bade fair to come true. St. Elmo is 
still the chief of the island fortresses, and the little chapel 
which the knights left to fall under the Turkish scimitars 
is again in good preservation, after having been long for- 
gotten under a pile of rubbish. But though churchmen 
and soldiers, the masters of Malta were, if all tales are 
true, a good deal more militaires than monks. Eye-wit- 
nesses describe the knights as they sailed on a warlike 
expedition waving their hands to fair ladies on the shore. 
In their albergos or barracks the " Languages " lived 
luxuriously, and though dueling was strictly prohibited, 
there is a narrow street, the Strada Stretta, running 
parallel with the Reale, in which this extremely un- 
ecclesiastical mode of settling disputes was winked at, 
For by a pleasant fiction, any encounter within its limits 
was regarded as simply a casual difficulty occasioned by 
two fiery gentlemen accidentally jostling each other! 
Turning into the Strada Mercanti, the San Giacomio 



286 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

of a former nomenclature, we come upon more reminders 
of this picturesque brotherhood. For close by the Hos- 
pital for Incurables is the site of their cemetery, and 
farther up the steep street is the Military Hospital, which 
was founded by the Grand Master, Fra Luis de Vas- 
congelos. This infirmary, as an old writer tells us, was 
in former days " the very glory of Malta." Every pa- 
tient had two beds for change, and a closet with lock and 
key to himself. No more than two people were put in 
one ward, and these were waited upon by the " Serving 
Brothers," their food being brought to them on silver 
dishes, and everything else ordered with corresponding 
magnificence. Nowadays, though scarcely so sumptuous, 
the hospital is still a noble institution, one of the rooms, 
four hundred and eighty feet in length, being accounted 
the longest in Europe. But there are no silver dishes, 
and the nurses have ceased to be of knightly rank. The 
University, an institution which turns out doctors with a 
celerity which accounts for the number of them in the 
island, is an even less imposing building than the public 
pawnbroking establishment hard by, and neither is so 
noteworthy as the market, which is remarkable from a 
literary point of view as being perhaps the only edifice 
in Valletta the founder of which has been content to in- 
scribe his merits in the vulgar tongue. On the top of 
the hill, for we have been climbing all the time, is a house 
with a fine marble doorway, which also is the relic of 
the knights. For this building was the Castellania, or 
prison, and the pillory in which prisoners did penance, 
and the little window from above which prisoners were 
suspended by the hands, are still, with the huge hook to 
which the rope was attached, to be seen by those who 
are curious in such disciplinary matters. But like the 



THE CASTELLANIA 287 

rock-hewn dungeons in which the knights kept their two 
thousand galley-slaves, in most cases Turks and Moors 
who had fallen in the way of their war-ships, which still 
exist in the rear of the Dockyard Terrace, such reminders 
of a cruel age and a stern Order are depressing to the 
wanderer in search of the picturesque. He prefers to 
look at the Auberge of the Language of Italy, where 
the Royal Engineers have their quarters, or at the Palazzo 
Parisi, opposite (it is a livery stable at present), where 
General Bonaparte resided during that brief stay in 
Malta which has served ever since to make the French 
name abhorred in the island, or at the Auberge de 
Castille, the noblest of all the knights' palaces, where the 
two scientific corps hold their hospitable mess. 

We have now tramped the entire length of the two 
chief longitudinal streets of Malta, and have seen most 
of the buildings of much general interest. But in the 
Strade Mezzodi and Britannica there are many private 
dwellings of the best description, and even some public 
ones, like the Auberge de France (devoted to the head of 
the Commissariat Department), warrant examination 
from a historical if not from an architectural, point of 
view. All of these knightly hotels are worthy of notice. 
Most of them are now appropriated to the needs of Gov- 
ernment offices or, like the Auberge d'Arragon (an 
Episcopal residence), to the housing of local dignitaries. 
But where the Auberge d'Allemagne once stood the col- 
legiate church of St. Paul has been built, and if there 
ever was an Auberge dAngleterre (for the language of 
England was suppressed when Henry VHI. confiscated 
the English Commanderies and was early succeeded by 
that of Bavaria), the building which bore her name was 
leveled when the new theater was built. It is neverthe- 



288 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

less certain that the Turcopolier or General of the Horse 
was, until the Reformation, selected from the Language 
of England, just as that of Provence always furnished 
the Grand Commander, France the Grand Hospitaller, 
Italy the Admiral, Arragon the Drapier, Auvergne the 
Commander, Germany the Grand Bailiff, and Castile the 
Grand Chancellor of the Sovereign Order, whose Grand 
Master held among other titles those of Prince of Malta 
and Gozo. 

We are now at the Upper Barracca, one of those ar- 
cades erected as promenades by the knights, and still the 
favorite walk of the citizens in the cool of morning and 
evening. From this point also is obtained a good bird's- 
eye view of Valletta and much of the neighboring coun- 
try, and if the visitor continues his walk to St. Andrew's 
Bastion he may witness a panorama of both harbors ; one, 
which the Maltese affirm (and we are not called upon to 
contradict them), is surpassed by the Bosphorus alone. 
It is at all events the most picturesque of the island 
views. There at a glance may be seen the two chief 
harbors alive with boats, sailing vessels, and steamers, 
from the huge ironclad to the noisy little launch. We 
then see that beside the main peninsula upon which Val- 
letta is built, and which divides the Quarantine from the 
Grand Harbor, there are several other headlands pro- 
jecting into these ports in addition to the island occupied 
by Fort Manoel and the Lazaretto. These narrow penin- 
sulas cut the havens into a host of subsidiary basins, 
bays, and creeks, while Valletta itself has overflowed into 
the suburbs of Floriana, Sliema, and St. Julian, and may 
by-and-by occupy Tasbiesch and Pieta ; Bighi, where the 
Naval Hospital is situated, and Corradino, associated 
with gay memories of the racecourse, and the more som- 



CITTA VITTORIOSA 289 

bre ones which pertain to the cemeteries and the prisons, 
all of which are centered in this quarter, where in former 
days the knights had their horse-breeding establishments 
and their game preserves. 

But there are certain suburbs of Valletta which no 
good Maltese will describe by so humble a name. These 
are the " Three Cities " of Vittoriosa and Senglea, built 
on the two peninsulas projecting into the Grand Harbor, 
and separated by the Dockyard Creek, and Burmola or 
Cosspicua, stretching back from the shore. These three 
" cities " are protected by the huge Firenzuola and Cot- 
tonera lines of fortifications, and as Fort Angelo, the 
most ancient of the Maltese strongholds, and Fort Ri- 
casoli, recalling the name of its builder, are among their 
castles, they hold their heads very high in Malta. In- 
deed, long before Valletta was thought of, and when 
Notabile was seen to be unfitted for their purpose, the 
knights took up their residence in Borgo or the Burgh, 
which, as the Statue of Victory still standing announces, 
was dignified by the name of Citta Vittoriosa after their 
victory over the Turks. Strada Antico Palazzo del Gov- 
ematore recalls the old Palace which once stood in this 
street, and indeed until 1571 this now poor town was the 
seat of Government. Antique buildings, like the Nun- 
nery of Santa Scolastica, once a hospital, and the In- 
quisitor's Palace, now the quarters of the English garri- 
son, are witnesses to its fallen dignity. Burmola is also 
a city of old churches, and Senglea named after the 
Grand Master De la Sengle, though at present a place 
of little consequence, contains plenty of architectural 
proofs that when its old name of " Chersoneso," or the 
Peninsula, was changed to Isola, or " The Unconquered," 
this " city," with Fort Michael to do its fighting, played 



290 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

in Malta militant a part almost as important as it does 
nowadays when its dockyard and arsenal are its chief 
titles to fame. 

Turning our survey inland, we see from the Barracca 
a rolling country, whitish, dry, and uninviting, dotted 
with white rocks projecting above the surface ; white 
little villages, each with its church and walled fields ; and 
topping all, on the summit of a rising ground, a town 
over which rise the spires of a cathedral. This is Citta 
Vecchia, the " old city " as it was called when the capital 
was transferred to Valletta, though the people round 
about still call it by the Saracenic name of " Medina " 
(the town), the more modern designation of " Notabile " 
being due to a complimentary remark of Alfonso the 
Magnanimous, King of Castile. No town in Malta is 
more ancient. Here, we know from the famous oration 
of Cicero, that Verres, Prsetor of Sicily, established some 
manufactories for cotton goods, out of which were made 
women's dresses of extraordinary magnificence, and here 
also the same voluptuous ruler did a reprehensible amount 
of plundering from temples and the " abodes of wealthy 
and honorable citizens." In their time-honored capital 
the Grand Masters had to be inaugurated, and in its 
cathedral every Bishop of Malta must still be consecrated. 
But the glory of Notabile is its memories, for in all 
Christendom there is no more silent city than the one 
towards which we creep by means of the island railway 
which has of late years shortened the eight miles between 
it and Valletta. Every rood, after leaving the cave-like 
station hollowed out of the soft solid rock, and the tun- 
nels under the fortifications, seems sleepier and sleepier. 
Every few minutes we halt at a white-washed shed hard 
by a white-washed " casal." And all the " casals " seem 



NOTABILE 291 

duplicates of each other. The white streets of these 
villages are narrow, and the people few. But the church 
. is invariably disproportionately large, well built, and rich 
in decorations, while the shops in the little square are 
much poorer than people who support so fine a church 
ought to patronize. There is Hamrun, with its Apostolic 
Institute directed by Algerian missionaries, Misada in 
the valley, ^nd Birchircara. Casal Curmi, where the 
cattle market is held, is seen in the distance, and at Lia 
and Balzan we are among the orange and lemon gardens 
for which these villages are famous. The San Antonio 
Palace, with its pleasant grounds, forms a relief to the 
eye. At Attard, " the village of roses," the aqueduct 
which supplies Valletta with the water of Diar Handur 
comes in sight, and then, at San Salvador, the train be- 
gins the steep pull which ends at the base of the hill on 
which Notabile is built. 

On this slope are little terraced fields and remains of 
what must at one time have been formidable fortifications. 
But all is crumbling now. A few of the Valletta mer- 
chants are taking advantage of the railway by building 
country houses, and some of the old Maltese nobility 
cling to the town associated with their quondam glory. 
But its decaying mansions with their mouldering coats of 
arms, palaces appropriated to prosaic purposes, ramparts 
from which for ages the clash of arms has departed, and 
streets silent except for the tread of the British soldiers 
stationed there or the mumble of the professional beggar, 
tell a tale of long-departed greatness. A statue of Juno 
is embedded in the gateway, and in the shed-like museum 
have been collected a host of Phoenician, Roman, and 
other remains dug out of the soil of the city. Maltese 
boys pester us to buy copper coins of the knights which 



292 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

are possibly honest, and their parents produce silver ones 
which are probably apocryphal. 

In Notabile itself there is not, however, a great deal 
to look at though from the summit of the Sanatorium, 
of old the Courts of Justice (and there are dreadful dun- 
geons underneath it still), a glance may be obtained over 
the entire island. To the prosaic eye it looks rather dry 
to be the " Fior del Mondo,'' the flower of the world, as 
the patriotic Maltese terms the land which he leaves with 
regret and returns to with joy. There to the south lies 
Verdala Palace, and the Boschetto, a grove in much re- 
quest for picnic parties from Valletta, and beyond both, 
the Inquisitor's summer palace, close to where the sea 
spray is seen flying against the rugged cliffs. The Bin- 
gemma hills, thick with Phoenician tombs, are seen to 
the west, and if the pedestrian cares he may visit the old 
rock fortress of Kala ta Bahria, Imtarfa, where stood 
the temple of Proserpine, and Imtahleb near the sea- 
shore, where in the season wild strawberries abound. 
Musta, with its huge domed church, is prominent enough 
to the northeast, while with a glass it is not difficult to 
make out Zebbar and Zeitun, Zurrico, Paola, and other 
villages of the southeastern coast scattered through a 
region where remains of the past are very plentiful. For 
here are the ruins of the temples of Hagiar Khim and 
Mnaidra, rude prehistoric monuments, and on the shore 
of the Marsa Scirocco (a bay into which the hot wind of 
Africa blows direct), is a megalithic wall believed to be 
the last of the temple of Melkarte, the Tyrian Hercules. 
But in Notabile, far before Apollo and Proserpine, 
whose marble temples stood here, before even the knights, 
whose three centuries of iron rule have a singular fascina- 
tion for the Maltese, there is a name very often in many 



SAINT PAUL 293 

mouths. And that is " San Paolo." Saint Paul is in 
truth the great man of Malta, and the people make very 
much of him. He is almost as popular a personage as Sir 
Thomas Maitland, the autocratic " King Tom," of whose 
benevolent despotism and doughty deeds also one is apt 
in time to get a little tired. Churches and streets and 
cathedrals are dedicated to the Apostle of the Gentiles, 
and from the summit of the Sanatorium a barefooted 
Maltese points out " the certain creek with a shore " in 
which he was wrecked, the island of Salmun, on which 
there is a statue of him, and the church erected in his 
honor. It is idle to hint to this pious son of Citta Vec- 
chia that it is doubtful whether Paul was ever wrecked 
in Malta at all, that not unlikely the scene of that notable 
event was Melita in the Gulf of Ragusa. Are there not 
hard by serpents turned into stone, if no living serpents 
to bite anybody, and a miraculous fountain which bursts 
forth at the Apostle's bidding? And is not "the tem- 
pestuous wind called Euroklydon " blowing at this very 
moment? And in the cathedral we learn for the first 
time that Publius, on the site of whose house it is built, 
became the first bishop of Malta. For is not his martyr- 
dom sculptured in marble, and painted on canvas? And 
by-and-by we see the grotto in which St. Paul did three 
months' penance, though the reason is not explained, and 
over it the chapel raised to the memory of the converted 
Roman Governor, and not far away the Catacombs in 
which the early Christians sheltered themselves, though 
whether there is an underground passage from there to 
Valletta, as historians affirm, is a point in which our bare- 
footed commentator is not agreed. 

All these are to him irreverent doubts. Notabile, with 
its cathedral, and convents, and monasteries, its church 



294 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

of St. Publius, the " stone of which never grows less," 
the seminary for priests, the Bishop's Palace and the 
Bishop's Hospital, is no place for scepticism touching 
Saint Paul and his voyages. Any such unbeliefs we had 
better carry elsewhere. The day is hot and the old city 
is somnolent, and the talk is of the past. At the wicket 
gate of the little station at the hill foot the engine is, 
at least, of the present. And as we slowly steam into 
Valletta, and emerge into the busy street, we seem to 
have leapt in an hour from the Middle Ages into the 
Twentieth Century. The band is playing in the Palace 
Square, and the politicians are in procession over some 
event with which we as seekers after the picturesque are 
not concerned. But in Valletta we are in the land of 
living men. Behind us is a city of the dead, and around 
it lie villages which seem never to have been alive. 



XIII 

SICILY 

Scylla and Charybdis — Messina, the chief commercial center of 
Sicily — The magnificent ruins of the Greek Theater at Taor- 
mina— Omnipresence of Mt. Etna — Approach to Syracuse — 
The famous Latomia del Paradiso — Girgenti, the City of 
Temples — Railway route to Palermo — Mosaics— Cathedral and 
Abbey of Monreale — Monte Pellegrino at the hour of sunset. 

TO the traveller who proposes to enter Sicily by the 
favorite sea-route from Naples to Messina the 
approach to the island presents a scene of sin- 
gular interest and beauty. A night's voyage from the 
sunny bay which sleeps at the foot of Vesuvius suffices 
to bring him almost within the shadow of Etna. By day- 
break he has just passed the Punta del Faro, the light- 
housed promontory at the extreme northeastern angle of 
this three-cornered isle, the Trinacria of the ancients, 
and is steaming into the Straits. Far to his left he can 
see, with the eye of faith at any rate, the rock of Scylla 
jutting out from the Calabrian coast, while the whirl- 
pool of Charybdis, he will do well to believe, is eddying 
and foaming at the foot of the Pharos a few hundred 
yards to his right. Here let him resolutely locate the 
fabled monster of the ^raping jaws into which were swept 
those luckless mariners of old whose dread of Scvlla 
drove them too near to the Sicilian shore. Modern 
geographers may maintain (as what will they not main- 

295 



296 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

tain?) that Charybdis should be identified with the Garo- 
falo, the current which sweeps round the breakwater of 
Messina seven miles to the south ; but Circe distinctly 
told Ulysses that the two monsters were not a " bowshot 
apart " ; and the perfectly clear and straightforward ac- 
count given of the matter by ^neas to Dido renders it 
impossible to doubt that Scylla and Charybdis faced each 
other at the mouth of the Straits. The traveller will be 
amply justified in believing that he has successfully nego- 
tiated the passage between these two terrors as soon as 
he has left the Pharos behind him and is speeding along 
the eastern coast of the island towards the city of 
Messina. 

Very bold and impressive grows the island scenery 
under the gradually broadening daylight. Tier on tier 
above him rise the bare, brown hill-slopes, spurs of the 
great mountain pyramid which he is approaching. These 
tumbled masses of the mountains, deepening here where 
the night shadow still lingers into downright black, and 
reddening there where they " take the morning " to the 
color of rusty iron, proclaim their volcanic character, to 
all who are familiar with the signs thereof, unmistakably 
enough. Just such a ferruginous face does Nature turn 
towards you as you drop down at twilight past the Isleta 
of Las Palmas, in Gran Canaria, or work your way from 
the eastern to the western coast of Teneriffe, round the 
spreading skirts of the Peak. Rock scenery of another 
character is visible on the left, among the Calabrian 
mountains, dwarfed somewhat by the nearer as well as 
loftier heights of the island opposite, but bearing no 
mean part in the composition of the land- and sea-scape, 
nevertheless. Mile after mile the view maintains its 
rugged beauty, and when at last the town and harbor 



MESSINA 297 

of Messina rise in sight, and the fort of Castellaccio be- 
gins to fill the eye, to the exclusion of the natural ram- 
parts of the hills, the traveller will be fain to admit that 
few islands in the world are approached through scenery 
so romantic and so well attuned to its historic associations. 

There are those who find Messina disappointing, and 
there is no doubt that to quit the waters of a rock-em- 
bosomed strait for the harbor of a large commercial sea- 
port possessing no special claim to beauty of situation, is 
to experience a certain effect of disenchantment. It 
would not be fair, however, to hold the town, as a town, 
responsible for this. It is only some such jewel as Naples 
or as Algiers that could vie with such a setting. Messina 
is not an Algiers or a Naples ; it is only an honest, an- 
cient, prosperous, active, fairly clean, and architecturally 
unimpressive town. The chief commercial center of 
Sicily, with upwards of eighty thousand inhabitants, a 
Cathedral, an Archbishop, and a University, it can afford, 
its inhabitants perhaps believe, to dispense with aesthetic 
attractions. But its spacious quays, its fine and curiously 
shaped port, the Harbor of the Sickle as it was called by 
the ancients when after it they named the city " Zancle," 
have an interest of their own if they are without much 
claim to the picturesque ; and the view from the Faro 
Grande on the curve of the Sickle, with the Sicilian 
mountains behind, the Calabrian rocks in front, and the 
Straits to the right and left of the spectator, is not to be 
despised. 

Still, Messina is not likely to detain any pleasure- 
tourist long, especially with Taormina, the gem of the 
island, and one might almost say, indeed, of all Italy, 
awaiting him at only the distance of a railway journey 
of some sixty to a hundred miles. The line from Messina 



298 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

to Giardini, the station for Taormina, and the spot 
whence Garibaldi crossed to Calabria in the autumn of 
i860, skirts the sea-coast, burrowing under headlands 
and spanning dry river-beds for a distance of thirty 
miles, amid the scenery which has been already viewed 
from the Straits, but which loses now from its too close 
neighborhood to the eye. The rock-built town of ancient 
Taormina is perched upon a steep and craggy bluff some 
four hundred feet above the railway line, and is ap- 
proached by an extremely circuitous road of about three 
miles in length. Short cuts there are for the youthful, 
the impetuous, and the sound in wind ; but even these 
fortunate persons might do worse than save their breath 
and restrain their impatience to reach their destination, 
if only for the sake of the varying panorama which un- 
folds itself as they ascend from level to level on their 
winding way. There can be no denying that Taormina 
stands nobly and confronts the Straits with a simple 
dignity that many greater and even higher cities might 
well envy. To see it from a favoring angle of the battle- 
mented road, with the southern sunlight bathing its bright 
white walls and broken lines of housetops, with the tower 
of Sant' Agostino traced against the cone of Etna, and 
the wall that skirts it almost trembling on the utmost 
verge of the cliff, while at the foot of the declivity the 
Straits trend southward in " tender, curving lines of 
creamy spray," to see this is at least to admit that some 
short cuts are not worth taking, and that the bridle-path 
up the hillside might well be left to those animals for 
whose use it was constructed, and who are generally be- 
lieved to prefer an abridgment of their journey to any 
conceivable enhancement of its picturesque attractions. 
At Taormina one may linger long. The pure, inspirit- 



TAORMINA 299 

ing air of its lofty plateau, and the unequaled beauty of 
the prospect which it commands, would alone be suffi- 
cient to stay the hurried footsteps of even the most time- 
pressed of " globe-trotters " ; but those who combine a 
love of scenery with a taste for archaeology and the classi- 
cal antique will find it indeed a difficult place to leave. 
For, a little way above the town, and in the center of an 
exquisite landscape, stand the magnificent ruins of the 
Greek Theater, its auditorium, it is true, almost leveled 
with the plain, but more perfect as to the remains of its 
stage and proscenium than any other in Sicily, and, with 
one exception, in the world. But there is no need to be 
a scholar or an antiquarian to feel the extraordinary fas- 
cination of the spot. Nowhere among all the relics of 
bygone civilizations have Time and Nature dealt more 
piously with the work of man. Every spring and sum- 
mer that have passed over those mouldering columns and 
shattered arches have left behind them their tribute of 
clasping creeper and clambering wild flower and softly 
draping moss. Boulder and plinth in common, the 
masonry alike of Nature and of man, have mellowed into 
the same exquisite harmony of greys and greens ; and 
the eye seeks in vain to distinguish between the handi- 
work of the Great Mother and those monuments of her 
long-dead children which she has clothed with an im- 
mortality of her own. 

Apart, however, from the indescribable charm of its 
immediate surroundings, the plateau of the theater must 
fix itself in the memory of all who have entered Sicily 
by way of Messina as having afforded them their first 
" clear " view of Etna, their first opportunity, that is to 
say, of looking at the majestic mountain unintercepted at 
any point of its outline or mass by objects on a lower 



300 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

level. The whole panorama indeed from this point is 
magnificent. To the left, in the foreground, rise the 
heights of Castiglione from the valley of the Alcantara; 
while, as the eye moves round the prospect from left to 
right, it lights in succession on the hermitage of S. Maria 
della Rocca, the Castle of Taormina, the overhanding hill 
of Mola, and Monte Venere towering above it. But, 
dominating the whole landscape, and irresistibly recall- 
ing to itself the gaze which wanders for a moment to the 
nearer chain of mountains or the blue Calabrian hills 
across the Strait, arises the never-to-be-forgotten pyra- 
mid of Etna, a mountain unrivaled in its combination of 
majesty and grace, in the soft symmetry of its " line," 
and the stern contrast between its lava-scarred sides, with 
their associations of throe and torture, and the eternal 
peace of its snow-crowned head. It will be seen at a 
closer view from Catania, and, best of all, on the journey 
from that place to Syracuse ; but the first good sight of 
it from Taormina, at any rate when weather and season 
have been favorable, is pretty sure to become an abiding 
memory. 

Twenty miles farther southwards along the coast lie 
the town and baths of Aci Reale, a pleasant resort in the 
" cure " season, but to others than invalids more interest- 
ing in its associations with Theocritus and Ovid, with 
" Homer the Handel of Epos, and Handel the Homer of 
song ; " in a word, with Acis and Galatea, and Polyphe- 
mus, and the much-enduring Ulysses. Aci Castello, a 
couple of miles or so down the coast, is, to be precise, the 
exact spot which is associated with these very old-world 
histories, though Polyphemus's sheep-run probably ex- 
tended far along the coast in both directions and the 
legend of the giant's defeat and discomfiture by the hero 



CATANIA 301 

of the Odyssey is preserved in the nomenclature of the 
rocky chain which juts out at this point from the Sicilian 
shore. The Scogli dei Ciclopi are a fine group of basaltic 
rocks, the biggest of them some two hundred feet in 
height and two thousand feet in circumference, no doubt 
" the stone far greater than the first " with which Poly- 
phemus took his shot at the retreating Wanderer, and 
which " all but struck the end of the rudder." It is a 
capital " half-brick " for a giant to " heave " at a stranger, 
whether the Cyclops did, in fact, heave it or not ; and, 
together with its six companions, it stands out bravely 
and with fine sculpturesque effect against the horizon. 
A few miles farther on is Catania, the second city in 
population and importance of Sicily, but, except for one 
advantage which would give distinction to the least in- 
teresting of places, by no means the second in respect of 
beauty. As a town, indeed, it is commonplace. Its bay, 
though of ample proportions, has no particular grace of 
contour; and even the clustering masts in its busy har- 
bor scarcely avail to break the monotony of that strip of 
houses on the flat seaboard, which, apart from its sur- 
roundings, is all that constitutes Catania. But with Etna 
brooding over it day and night, and the town lying out- 
stretched and nestling between the two vast arms which 
the giant thrusts out towards the sea on each side, Cata- 
nia could not look wholly prosaic and uninteresting even 
if she tried. 

We must again return to the mountain, for Etna, it 
must be remembered, is a persistent feature, is the per- 
sistent feature of the landscape along nearly the whole 
eastern coast of Sicily from Punta di Faro to the Cape 
of Santa Croce. if not to the promontory of Syracuse. 
Its omnipresence becomes overawing as one hour of 



302 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

travel succeeds another and the great mountain is as near 
as ever. For miles upon miles by this southward course 
it haunts the traveller like a reproving conscience. Each 
successive stage on his journey gives him only a different 
and not apparently more distant view. Its height, ten 
thousand feet, although, of course, considerable, seems 
hardly sufficient to account for this perpetual and un- 
abating prominence, which, however, is partly to be ex- 
plained by the outward trend taken by the sea-coast after 
we pass Catania, and becoming more and more marked 
during the journey from that city to Syracuse. There 
could be no better plan of operations for one who wishes 
to view the great mountain thoroughly, continuously, 
protractedly, and at its best, than to await a favorable 
afternoon, and then to take the journey in question by 
railway, so timing it as to reach the tongue of Santa 
Croce about sunset. From Catania to Lentini the travel- 
ler has Etna, wherever visible, on his right ; at Lentini 
the line of railway takes a sharp turn to the left, and, 
striking the coast at Agnone, hugs it all along the north- 
ern shore of the promontory, terminating with Cape Santa 
Croce, upon approaching which point it doubles back 
upon itself, to follow the " re-entering angle " of the 
cape, and then, once more turning to the left, runs 
nearly due southward along, the coast to Syracuse. 
Throughout the twenty miles or so from Lentini to Au- 
gusta, beneath the promontory of Santa Croce, Etna lies 
on the traveller's left, with the broad blue bay fringed 
for part of the way by a mile-wide margin of gleaming 
sand between him and it. Then the great volcanic cone, 
all its twenty miles from summit to sea-coast foreshort- 
ened into nothingness by distance, seems to be rising 
from the very sea; its long-cooled lava streams might al- 



MT. ETNA 303 

most be mingling with the very waters of the bay. As 
the rays of the westering sun strike from across the is- 
land upon silver-gray sand and blue-purple sea and 
russet-iron mountain slopes, one's first impulse is to ex- 
claim with Wordsworth, in vastly differing circumstances, 
that " earth hath not anything to show more fair." But 
it has. For he who can prolong his view of the moun- 
tain until after the sun has actually sunk will find that 
even the sight he has just witnessed can be surpassed. 
He must wait for the moment when the silver has gone 
out of the sand, and the purple of the sea has changed 
to gray, and the russet of Etna's lava slopes is deepening 
into black ; for that is also the moment when the pink 
flush of the departed sunset catches its peak and. closes 
the symphony of color with a chord more exquisitely 
sweet than all. 

From Cape Santa Croce to Syracuse the route declines 
a little perhaps in interest. The great volcano which 
has filled the eye throughout the journey is now less 
favorably placed for the view, and sometimes, as when 
the railway skirts the Bay of Megara in a due southward 
direction, is altogether out of sight. Nor does the ap- 
proach to Syracuse quite prepare one for the pathetic 
charm of this most interesting of the great, dead, half- 
deserted cities of the ancient world, or even for the sin- 
gular beauty of its surroundings. You have to enter the 
inhabited quarter itself, and to take up your abode on 
that mere sherd and fragment of old Greek Syracuse, the 
Island of Ortygia, to which the present town is confined 
(or rather, you have to begin by doing this, and then to 
sally forth on a long walk of exploration round the con- 
torni, to trace the line of the ancient fortifications, and 
to map out as best you may the four other quarters, each 



304 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

far larger than Ortygia, which, long since given over to 
orange-gardens and scattered villas and farmhouses, were 
once no doubt well-peopled districts of the ancient city), 
ere you begin either to discover its elements of material 
beauty or to feel anything of its spiritual magic. It is 
hard to believe that this decayed and apparently still de- 
caying little island town was once the largest of the Hel- 
lenic cities, twenty miles, according to Strabo, in circum- 
ference, and even in the time of Cicero containing in one 
of its now deserted quarters " a very large Forum, most 
beautiful porticoes, a highly decorated Town Hall, a 
most spacious Senate House, and a superb Temple of 
Jupiter Olym.pius." A spoiler more insatiable than 
Verres has, alas ! carried off all these wonders of art and 
architecture, and of most of them not even a trace of 
the foundations remains. Of the magnificent Forum a 
single unfluted column appears to be the solitary relic. 
The porticoes, the Town Hall, the Senate House, the 
Temple of the Olympian Jove are irrecoverable even by 
the most active architectural imagination. But the west 
wall of the district which contained these treasures is still 
partially traceable, and in the adjoining quarter of the an- 
cient city we find ourselves in its richest region both of 
the archaeological and the picturesque. 

For here is the famous Latomia del Paradiso, quarry, 
prison, guard-house, and burial-place of the Syracusan 
Greek, and the yet more famous Theater, inferior to that 
of Taormina in the completeness of the stage and pro- 
scenium, but containing the most perfectly preserved au- 
ditorium in the world. The entrance to the Latomia, 
that gigantic, ear-shaped orifice hewn out of the lime- 
stone cliff, and leading into a vast whispering-chamber, 
the acoustic properties of which have caused it to be 



LATOMIA DEL PARADISO 305 

identified with the (historic or legendary) Ear of Diony- 
sius, has a strange, wild impressiveness of its own. But 
in beauty though not in grandeur it is excelled by an- 
other abandoned limestone quarry in the neighborhood, 
which has been converted by its owner into an orangery. 
This lies midway between the Latomia del Paradiso and 
the Quarry of the Cappuccini, and is in truth a lovely re- 
treat. Over it broods the perfect stillness that never 
seems so deep as in those deserted places which have 
once been haunts of busy life. It is rich in the spiritual 
charm of natural beauty and the sensuous luxury of sub- 
tropical culture: close at hand the green and gold of 
orange trees, in the middle distance the solemn plumes of 
the cypresses, and farther still the dazzling white walls 
of the limestone which the blue sky bends down to meet. 
To pass fromx the quarries to the remains of the Greek 
Theater hard by is in some measure to exchange the de- 
light of the eye for the subtler pleasures of mental asso- 
ciation. Not that the concentric curves of these molder- 
ing and moss-lined stone benches are without their ap- 
peal to the senses. On the contrary, they are beautiful 
in themselves, and, like all architectural ruins, than which 
no animate things in nature more perfectly illustrate the 
scientific doctrine of " adaptation to environment," they 
harmonize deliciously in fine and tone with their natural 
surroundings. Yet to most people, and especially so to 
those of the contemplative habit, the Greek Theater at 
Syracuse, like the Amphitheaters of Rome and Verona, 
will be most impressive at moments when the senses are 
least active and the imagination busiest. It is when we 
abstract the mind from the existing conditions of the ruin ; 
it is when we " restore " it by those processes of mental 
architecture which can never blunder into Vandalism ; it is 



3o6 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

when we re-people its silent, time-worn benches with the 
eager, thronging life of twenty centuries ago, that there is 
most of magic in its spell. And here surely imagination 
has not too arduous a task, so powerfully is it assisted by 
the wonderful completeness of these remains. More than 
forty tiers of seats shaped out of the natural limestone 
of the rock can still be quite distinctly traced ; and though 
their marble facings have of course long moldered into 
dust, whole cunei of them are still practically as unin- 
jured by time, still as fit for the use for which they were 
intended, as when the Syracusans of the great age of 
Attic Drama flocked hither to hear the tragedies of that 
poet whom they so deeply reverenced that to be able to 
recite his verse was an accomplishment rewarded in the 
prisoners who possessed it by liberation from bondage. 
To the lover of classical antiquity Syracuse will furnish 
" moments " in abundance ; but at no other spot either in 
Ortygia itself or in these suburbs of the modern city, 
not at the Fountain of Arethusa on the brink of the great 
port; not in the Temple of Minerva, now the Cathedral, 
with its Doric columns embedded in the ignominy of 
plaster ; not in that wildest and grandest of those ancient 
Syracusan quarries, the Latomia dei Cappuccini, where 
the ill-fated remnant of the routed army of Nicias is 
supposed to have expiated in forced labor the failure of 
the Sicilian Expedition, wih he find it so easy to rebuild 
the ruined past as here on this desolate plateau, with 
these perfect monuments of the immortal Attic stage 
around him, and at his feet the town, the harbor, the 
promontory of Plemmyrium, the blue waters of the 
Ionian Sea. 

It is time, however, to resume our journey and to make 
for that hardly less interesting or less beautifully situated 



GIRGENTI 307 

town of Sicily which is usually the next halting-place of 
the traveller. The route to Girgenti from Syracuse is 
the most circuitous piece of railway communication in 
the island. To reach our destination it is necessary to 
retrace our steps almost the whole way back to Catania. 
At Bicocca, a few miles distant from that city, the line 
branches off into the interior of the country for a dis- 
tance of some fifty or sixty miles, when it is once more 
deflected, and then descends in a southwesterly direction 
towards the coast. At a few miles from the sea, within 
easy reach of its harbor, Porto Empedocle, lies Girgenti. 
The day's journey will have been an interesting one. 
Throughout its westward course the line, after traversing 
the fertile Plain of Catania, the rich grain-bearing dis- 
trict which made Sicily the granary of the Roman world, 
ascends gradually into a mountainous region and plunges 
between Calascibetta and Castrogiovanni into a tortuous 
ravine, above which rise towering the two last-named 
heights. The latter of the two is planted on the site of 
the plain of Enna, the scene of the earliest abduction 
recorded in history. Flowers no longer flourish in the 
same abundance on the meads from which Persephone 
was carried ofif by the Dark King of Hades ; but the spot 
is still fair and fertile, truly a " green navel of the isle," 
the central Omphalos from which the eye ranges north- 
ward, eastward, and south-westward over each expanse 
of Trinacria's triple sea. But those who do not care to 
arrest their journey for the sake of sacrificing to Demeter, 
or of enjoying the finest, in the sense of the most exten- 
sive, view in Sicily, may yet admire the noble situation 
of the rock-built town of Castrogiovanni, looking down 
upon the railway from its beetling crag. 

Girgenti, the City of Temples, the richest of all places 



3o8 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

in the world save one in monuments of Pagan worship, 
conceals its character effectually enough from him who 
enters it from the north. Within the precincts of the 
existing city there is little sign to be seen of its archaeo- 
logical treasures, and, to tell the truth, it has but few 
attractions of its own. Agrigentum, according to Pin- 
dar " the most beautiful city of mortals," will not so 
strike a modern beholder; but that, no doubt, is because, 
like Syracuse and other famous seats of ancient art and 
religious reverence, it has shrunk to dimensions so con- 
tracted as to leave all the riches of those stately edifices 
to which it owed the fame of its beauty far outside its 
present boundaries. Nothing, therefore, need detain the 
traveller in the town itself (unless, indeed, he would 
snatch a brief visit to the later-built cathedral, remark- 
able for nothing but the famous marble sarcophagus with 
its relief of the Myth of Hippolytus), and he will do well 
to mount the Rupe Atenea without delay. The view, 
however, in every direction is magnificent, the town to 
the right of the spectator and behind him, the sea in front, 
and the rolling, ruin-dotted plain between. From this 
point Girgenti itself looks imposing enough with the 
irregular masses of its roofs and towers silhouetted 
against the sky. But it is the seaward view which ar- 
rests and detains the eye. Hill summit or hotel window, 
it matters little what or where your point of observation 
is, you have but to look from the environs of Girgenti 
towards Porto Empedocle. a few miles to the south, and 
you bring within your field of vision a space of a few 
dozen acres in extent which one may reasonably sup- 
pose to have no counterpart in any area of like dimen- 
sions on the face of the globe. It Is a garden of molder- 
ing shrines, a positive orchard of shattered porticoes 



TEMPLES 309 

and broken column-shafts, and huge pillars prostrate at 
the foot of their enormous plinths. You can count and 
identify and name them all even from where you stand. 
Ceres and Proserpine, Juno Lacinia, Concord, Hercules, 
^sculapius, Jupiter Olympius, Castor and Pollux, all 
are visible at once, all recognizable and numerable from 
east to west in their order as above. It is a land of 
ruined temples, and, to all appearance, of nothing else. 
One can just^ succeed, indeed, in tracing the coils of the 
railway as it winds like a black snake towards Porto 
Empedocle, but save that there are no signs of life. One 
descries no wagon upon the roads, no horse in the fur- 
rows, no laborer among the vines, Girgenti itself, with 
its hum and clatter, lies behind you ; no glimpse of life 
or motion is visible on the quays of the port. All seems 
as desolate as those gray and moldering fanes of the 
discrowned gods a solitude which only changes in char- 
acter without deepening in intensity as the eye travels 
across the foam-fringed coast-line out on the sailless sea. 
There is a strange beauty in this silent Pantheon of dead 
deities, this landscape which might almost seem to be still 
echoing the last wail of the dying Pan ; and it is a beauty 
of death and desolation to which the like of nature, here 
especially abounding, contributes not a little by contrast. 
For nowhere in Sicily is the country-side more lavishly 
enriched by the olive. Its contorted stem and quivering, 
silvery foliage are everywhere. Olives climb the hill- 
slopes in straggling files ; olives cluster in twos and 
threes and larger groups upon the level plain ; olives trace 
themselves against the broken walls of the temples, and 
one catches the flicker of their branches in the sunlight 
that streams through the roofless peristyles. From Rupe 
Atenea out across the plain to where the eye lights upon 



3IO THE MEDITERRANEAN 

the white loops of the road to Porto Empedocle one 
might almost say that every object which is not a temple 
or a fragment of a temple is an olive tree. 

By far the most interesting of the ruins from the archae- 
ologist's point of view is that of the Temple of Concord, 
which, indeed, is one of the best-preserved in existence, 
thanks, curiously enough, to the religious Philistinism 
which in the Middle Ages converted it into a Christian 
church. It was certainly not in the spirit of its tutelary 
goddess that it was so transformed : nothing, no doubt, 
was farther from the thoughts of those who thus appro- 
priated the shrine of Concord than to illustrate the doc- 
trine of the unity of religion. But art and archaeology, 
if not romance, have good reason to thank them that 
they " took over " the building on any grounds, for it is, 
of course, to this circumstance that we owe its perfect 
condition of preservation, and the fact that all the de- 
tails of the Doric style as applied to religious architecture 
can be studied in this temple while so much of so many 
of its companion fanes has crumbled into indistinguish- 
able ruin. Concordia has remained virtually intact 
through long centuries under the homely title of " the 
Church of St. Gregory of the Turnips," and it rears its 
stately fagade before the spectator in consequence with 
architrave complete, a magnificent hexastyle of thirty- 
four columns, its lateral files of thirteen shafts apiece 
receding in noble lines of perspective. Juno Lacinia, or 
Juno Lucinda (for it may have been either as the " La- 
cinian Goddess " or as the Goddess of Childbed that Juno 
was worshipped here), an older fane than Concordia, 
though the style had not yet entered on its decline when 
the latter temple was built, is to be seen hard by, a ma- 
jestic and touching ruin. It dates from the fifth century 



RUINS 311 

B. c, and is therefore Doric of the best period. Earth- 
quakes, it seems, have co-operated with time in the work 
of destruction, and though twenty-five whole pillars are 
left standing, the facade, alas ! is represented only by a 
fragment of architrave. More extensive still have been 
the ravages inflicted on the Temple of Hercules by his 
one unconquerable foe. This great and famous shrine, 
much venerated of old by the Agrigentines, and contain- 
ing that statue of the god which the indefatigable " col- 
lector " Verres vainly endeavored to loot, is now little 
more than a heap of tumbled masonry, with one broken 
column-shaft alone still standing at one extremity of its 
site. But it is among the remains of the ancient sanctu- 
ary of Zeus, all unfinished, though that edifice was left 
by its too ambitious designers, that we get the best idea 
of the stupendous scale on which those old-world religi- 
ous architects and masons worked. The ruin itself has 
sufifered cruelly from the hand of man ; so much so, in- 
deed, that little more than the ground plan of the temple 
is to be traced by the lines of column bases, vast masses 
of its stone having been removed from its site to be used 
in the construction of the Mole. But enough remains to 
show the gigantic scale on which the work was planned 
and partially carried out. The pillars which once stood 
upon those bases were twenty feet in circumference, or 
more than two yards in diameter and each of their flut- 
ings forms a niche big enough to contain a man ! Yon 
Caryatid, who has been carefully and skillfully pieced 
together from the fragments doubtless of many Carya- 
tids, and who now lies, hands under head, supine and 
staring at the blue sky above him. is more than four 
times the average height of a man. From the crown of his 
bowed head to his stony soles he measures twenty- 



312 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

five feet, and to watch a tourist sitting by or on him 
and gazing on Girgenti in the distance is to be visited 
by a touch of that feehng of the irony of human things 
to which Shehey gives expression in his " Ozymandias." 

The railway route from Girgenti to Palermo is less in- 
teresting than that from Catania to Girgenti. It runs 
pretty nearly due south and north across the island from 
shore to shore, through a country mountainous indeed, as 
is Sicily everywhere, but not marked by anything particu- 
larly striking in the way of highland scenery. At Termini 
we strike the northern coast, and the line branches off to 
the west. Another dozen miles or so brings us to Santa 
Flavia, whence it is but half an hour's walk to the ruins 
of Soluntum, situated on the easternmost hill of the 
promontory of Catalfano. The coast-view from this 
point is striking, and on a clear day the headland of 
Cefalu, some twenty miles away to the eastward, is 
plainly visible. Ten more miles of " westing " and we 
approach Palermo, the Sicilian capital, a city better en- 
tered from the sea, to which it owes its beauty as it does 
its name. 

To the traveller fresh from Girgenti and its venerable 
ruins, or from Syracuse with its classic charm, the first 
impressions of Palermo may very likely prove disap- 
pointing. Especially will they be so if he has come with 
a mind full of historic enthusiasm and a memory laden 
with the records of Greek colonization, Saracen dominion, 
and Norman conquest, and expecting to find himself face 
to face with the relics and remainder of at any rate the 
modern period of the three. For Palermo is emphatically 
what the guide-books are accustomed to describe as " a 
handsome modern city " ; which means, as most people 
familiar with the Latin countries are but too well aware, 



PALERMO 313 

a city as like any number of other Continental cities, 
built and inhabited by Latin admirers and devotees of 
Parisian " civilization." as "two peas in a pod." In the 
Sicilian capital the passion for the monotonous magnifi- 
cence of the boulevard has been carried to an almost 
amusing pitch. Palermo may be regarded from this point 
of view as consisting of two most imposing boulevards 
of approximately equal length, each bisecting the city 
with scrupulous equality from east to west and from 
north to south, and intersecting each other in its exact 
center at the mathematically precise angle of ninety de- 
grees. You stand at the Porta Felice, the water-gate of 
the city, with your back to the sea, and before you, 
straight as a die, stretches the handsome Via Vittorio 
Emanuele for a mile or more ahead. You traverse the 
handsome Via Vittorio Emanuele for half its length and 
you come to the Quattro Canti, a small octagonal piazza 
which boasts itself to be the very head of Palermo, and 
from this intersection of four cross-roads, you see 
stretching to right and left of you the equally handsome 
Via Macqueda. Walk down either of these two great 
thoroughfares, the Macqueda or the Vittorio Emanuele, 
and you will be equally satisfied with each ; the only 
thing which may possibly mar your satisfaction will be 
your consciousness that you would be equally satisfied 
with the other, and, indeed, that it requires an effort of 
memory to recollect in which of the two you are. There 
is nothing to complain of in the architecture or decora- 
tion of the houses. All is correct, regular, and symmetri- 
cal in line, bright and cheerful in color, and, as a whole, 
absolutely wanting in individuality and charm. 

It is, however, of course impossible to kill an ancient 
and interesting city altogether with boulevards. Palermo, 



314 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

like ever}^ other city, has its " bits," to be found without 
much difficulty by anyone who will quit the beaten track 
of the two great thoroughfares and go a-questing for 
them himself. He may thus find enough here and there 
to remind him that he is living on the " silt " of three, 
nay, four civilizations, on a fourfold formation to which 
Greek and Roman, Saracen and Norman, have each con- 
tributed its successive layer. It need hardly be said that 
the latter has left the deepest traces of any. The Palazzo 
Reale, the first of the Palermitan sights to which the 
traveller is likely to bend his way, will afford the best 
illustration of this. Saracenic in origin, it has received 
successive additions from half-a-dozen Norman princes, 
from Robert Guiscard downwards, and its chapel, the 
Cappella Palatina, built by Roger II. in the early part of 
the twelfth century, is a gem of decorative art which 
would alone justify a journey to Sicily to behold. The 
purely architectural beauties of the interior are impres- 
sive enough, but the eye loses all sense of them among 
the wealth of their decoration. The stately files of Nor- 
man arches up the nave would in any other building- 
arrest the gaze of the spectator, but in the Cappella Pala- 
tina one can think of nothing but mosaics. Mosaics are 
everywhere, from western door to eastern window, and 
from northern to southern transept wall. A full-length, 
life-sized saint in mosaic grandeur looks down upon you 
from every interval between the arches of the nave, and 
medallions of saints in mosaic, encircled with endless 
tracery and arabesque, form the inner face of every arch. 
Mosaic angels float with outstretched arms above the 
apse. A colossal Madonna and Bambino, overshadowed 
by a hovering Pere Eternel, peer dimly forth in mosaic 
across the altar through the darkness of the chancel. 



THE PALAZZO REALE 315 

The ground is golden throughout, and the somber rich- 
ness of the effect is indescribable. In Palermo and its 
environs, in the Church of Martorana, and in the Cathe- 
dral of Monreale, no less than here, there is an abundance 
of that same decoration, and the mosaics of the latter 
of the two edifices above mentioned are held to be the 
finest of all; but it is by those of the Cappella Palatina, 
the first that he is likely to make the acquaintance of, 
that the visitor, not being an expert or connoisseur in 
this particular species of art-work, will perhaps be the 
most deeply impressed. 

The Palazzo Reale may doubtless too be remembered 
by him, as affording him the point of view from which 
he has obtained his first idea of the unrivaled situation 
of Palermo. From the flat roof of the Observatory, fitted 
up in the tower of S. Ninfa, a noble panorama lies 
stretched around us. The spectator is standing midway 
between Amphitrite and the Golden Shell that she once 
cast in sport upon the shore. Behind him lies the Conca 
d'Oro, with the range of mountains against which it rests, 
Grifone and Cuccio, and the Billieni Hills, and the road 
to Monreale winding up the valley past La Rocca ; in 
front lies the noble curve of the gulf, from Cape Mon- 
gerbino to the port, the bold outlines of Monte Pellegrino, 
the Bay of Mondello still farther to the left, and Capo 
di Gallo completing the coast-line with its promontory 
dimly peering through the haze. Palermo, however, does 
not perhaps unveil the full beauty of its situation else- 
where than down at the sea's edge, with the city nestling 
in the curve behind one and Pellegrino rising across the 
waters in front. 

But the environs of the city, which are of peculiar in- 
terest and attraction, invite us, and first among these is 



3i6 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

Monreale, at a few miles' distance, a suburb to which the 
traveller ascends by a road commanding at every turn 
some new and striking prospect of the bay. On one 
hand, as he leaves the town, lies the Capuchin Monastery, 
attractive with its catacombs of mummified ex-citizens 
of Palermo to the lover of the gruesome rather than of the 
picturesque. Farther on is the pretty Villa Tasca, then 
La Rocca, whence by a winding road of very ancient con- 
struction we climb the royal mount crowned by the fa- 
mous Cathedral and Benedictine Abbey of Monreale. 
Here more mosaics, as has been said, as fine in quality 
and in even greater abundance than those which decorate 
the interior of the Cappella Palatina ; they cover, it is 
said, an area of seventy thousand four hundred square 
feet. From the Cathedral we pass into the beautiful 
cloisters, and thence into the fragrant orange-garden, 
from which another delightful view of the valley towards 
Palermo is obtained. San Martino, the site of a sup- 
pressed Benedictine monastery, is the next spot of in- 
terest. A steep path branching off to the right from 
Monreale leads to a deserted fort, named II Castellaccio, 
from which the road descends as far as S. Martino, 
whence a pleasant journey back to Palermo is made 
through the picturesque valley of Bocca di Falco. 

The desire to climb a beautiful mountain is as strong 
as if climbing it were not as effectual a way of hiding 
its beauties as it would be to sit upon its picture; and 
Monte Pellegrino, sleeping in the sunshine, and display- 
ing the noble lines of what must surely be one of the 
most picturesque mountains in the world, is likely enough 
to lure the traveller to its summit. That mass of gray 
limestone, which takes such an exquisite flush under the 
red rays of the evening, is not difficult to climb. The zig- 



MONTE PELLEGRINO 317 

zag path which mounts its sides is plainly visible from 
the town, and though steep at first, it grows gradually 
easier of ascent on the upper slopes of the mountain. 
Pellegrino was originally an island, and is still separated 
by the plain of the Conca d'Oro from the other moun- 
tains near the coast. Down to a few centuries ago it was 
clothed with underwood, and in much earlier times it 
grew corn for the soldiers of Hamilcar Barca, who occu- 
pied it in the first Punic War. Under an overhanging 
rock on its 'summit is the Grotto of Sta. Rosalia, the 
patron saint of the city, the maiden whom tradition 
records to have made this her pious retreat several cen- 
turies ago, and the discovery of whose remains in 1664 
had the effect of instantaneously staying the ravages of 
the plague by which Palermo was just then being deso- 
lated. The grotto has since been converted, as under the 
circumstances was only fitting, into a church, to which 
many pilgrimages are undertaken by the devout. A 
steep path beyond the chapel leads to the survey station 
on the mountain top, from which a far-stretching view is 
commanded. The cone of Etna, over eighty miles off as 
the crow flies, can be seen from here, and still farther 
to the north, among the Liparsean group, the everlasting 
furnaces of Stromboli and Vulcano. There is a steeper 
descent of the mountain towards the southwest, and 
either by this or by retracing our original route we re- 
gain the road, which skirts the base of the mountain on 
the west, and, at four miles' distance from the gate of 
the town, conducts to one of the most charmingly situated 
retreats that monarch ever constructed for himself, the 
royal villa-chateau of La Favorita, erected by Ferdinand 
IV. (Ferdinand L of the Two Sicilies), otherwise not 
the least uncomfortable of the series of uncomfortable 



3i8 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

princes whom the Bourbons gave to the South ItaHan 
peoples. 

Great as are the attractions of Palermo, they will 
hardly avail to detain the visitor during the rest of his 
stay in Sicily. F'or him who wishes to see Trinacria 
thoroughly, and who has already made the acquaintance 
of Messina and Syracuse, of Catania and Girgenti, the 
capital forms the most convenient of head-c^uarters from 
which to visit whatever places of interest remain to be 
seen in the western and southwestern corner of the is- 
land. For it is hence that, in the natural order of things, 
he would start for Marsala (famous as the landing-place 
of " the Thousand," under Garibaldi, in i860, and the 
commencement of that memorable march which ended in 
a few weeks in the overthrow of the Bourbon rule) and 
Trapani (from drepanon), another sickle-shaped town, 
dear to the Virgilian student as the site of the games in- 
stituted by yEneas to the memory of the aged Anchises, 
who died at Eryx, a poetically appropriate spot for a 
lover of Aphrodite to end his days in. The town of the 
goddess on the top of Monte San Giuliano, the ancient 
Eryx, is fast sinking to decay. Degenerate descendants, 
or successors would perhaps be more correct, of her an- 
cient worshippers prefer the plain at its foot, and year 
by year migrations take place thither which threaten to 
number this immemorial settlement of pagan antiquity 
among the dead cities of the past and to leave its grass- 
grown streets and moldering cathedral alone with the 
sea and sky. There are no remains of the world-famed 
shrine of Venus Erycina now save a few traces of its 
foundation and an ancient reservoir, once a fountain dedi- 
cated to the goddess. One need not linger on San 
Giuliano longer than is needful to survey the mighty 



SELINUNTO 319 

maritime panorama which surrounds the spectator, and 
to note Cape Bon in Africa rising faintly out of the south- 
ward haze. 

For Selinunto has to be seen, and Segesta, famous both 
for the grandeur and interest of their Greek remains. 
From Castelvetrano station, on the return route, it is but 
a short eight miles to the ruins of Selinus, the western- 
most of the Hellenic settlements of Sicily, a city with a 
history of little more than two centuries of active life, 
and of upwards of two thousand years of desolation. 
Pammilus of Megara founded it, so says legend, in the 
seventh century b. c. In the fifth century of that era 
the Carthaginians destroyed it. Ever since that day it 
has remained deserted except as a hiding-place for the 
early Christians in the days of their persecution, and as 
a stronghold of the Mohammedans in their resistance to 
King Roger. Yet in its short life of some two hundred 
and twenty years it became, for some unknown reason of 
popular sanctity, the site of no fewer than seven temples, 
four of them among the largest ever known to have ex- 
isted. Most of them survive, it is true, only in the con- 
dition of prostrate fragments, for it is supposed that 
earthquake and not time has been their worst foe, and 
the largest of them, dedicated to Hercules, or. as some 
hold, to Appollo, was undoubtedly never finished at all. 
Its length, including steps, reaches the extraordinary 
figure of three hundred and seventy-one feet ; its width, in- 
cluding steps, is a hundred and seventy-seven feet ; while 
its columns would have soared when completed to the stu- 
pendous height of fifty-three feet. It dates from the 
fifth century b. c, and it was probably the appearance 
of the swarthy Carthasjinian invaders which interrupted 
the masons at their work. It now lies a colossal heap of 



320 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

mighty, prostrate, broken columns, their flutings worn 
nearly smooth by time and weather, and of plinths shaped 
and rounded by the same agencies into the similitude of 
gigantic mountain boulders. 

It is, however, the temples of Selinunto rather than 
their surroundings which command admiration, and in 
this respect they stand in marked contrast to that site of 
a single unnamed ruin, which is, perhaps, taking site and 
ruin together, the most " pathetic " piece of the pictur- 
esque in all Sicily, the hill and temple of Segesta. From 
Calatafimi, scene of one of the Garibaldian battles, to 
Segesta the way lies along the Castellamare road, and 
through a beautiful and well-watered valley. The site 
of the town itself is the first to be reached. Monte Bar- 
baro, with the ruins of the theater, lies to the north, to 
the west the hill whereon stands the famous Temple. 
No one needs a knowledge of Greek archaeology or Greek 
history, or even a special love for Greek art, in order to 
be deeply moved by the spectacle which the spot presents. 
He needs no more than the capacity of Virgil's hero to 
be touched by " the sense of tears in mortal things." 
The Temple itself is perfect, except that its columns are 
still unfluted; but it is not the simple and majestic out- 
line of the building, its lines of lessening columns, or its 
massive architraves upborne upon those mighty shafts, 
which most impress us, but the harmony between this 
great work of man and its natural surroundings. In 
this mountain solitude, and before this deserted shrine 
of an extinct worship we are in presence of the union 
of two desolations, and one had well-nigh said of two 
eternities, the everlasting hills and the imperishable 
yearnings of the human heart. No words can do justice 
to the lonely grandeur of the Temple of Segesta. It is 



MUSEUM OF PALERMO 321 

unlike any other in Sicily in this matter of unique posi- 
tion. It has no rival temple near it, nor are there even 
the remains of any other building, temple or what not, 
to challenge comparison, within sight of the spectator. 
This ruin stands alone in every sense, alone in point of 
physical isolation, alone in the austere pathos which that 
position imparts to it. 

In the Museum of Palermo, to which city the explorer 
of these ruined sanctuaries of art and religion may now 
be supposed* to have returned, the interesting metopes 
of Selinus will recall the recollection of that greater mu- 
seum of ruins which he just visited at Selinunto; but the 
suppressed monastery, which has been now turned into 
a Museo Nazionale, has not much else besides its Hel- 
lenic architectural fragments to detain him. And it may 
be presumed, perhaps, that the pursuit of antiquities, 
which may be hunted with so much greater success in 
other parts of the islands, is not precisely the object which 
leads most visitors to Sicily to prolong their stay in this 
beautifully seated city. Its attraction lies, in effect and 
almost wholly, in the characteristic noted in the phrase 
just used. Architecturally speaking, Palermo is naught: 
it is branded, as has been already said, with the banality 
and want of distinction of all modern Italian cities of the 
second class. And, moreover, all that man has ever done 
for her external adornment she can show you in a few 
hours ; but days and weeks would not more than suffice 
for the full appreciation of all she owes to nature. An- 
tiquities she has none, or next to none, unless, indeed, 
we are prepared to include relics of the comparatively 
modern Norman domination, which of course abound in 
her beautiful mosaics, in that category. The silt of suc- 
cessive ages, and the detritus of a life which from the 



322 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

earliest times has been a busy one, have irrecoverably 
buried almost all vestiges of her classic past. Her true, 
her only, but her all-sufficient attraction is conveyed in 
her ancient name. She is indeed " Panormus " ; it is as 
the " all harbor city " that she fills the eye and mind and 
lingers in the memory and lives anew in the imagination. 
When the city itself and its environs as far as Monreale 
and San Martino and La Zisa have been thoroughly ex- 
plored; when the imposing Porta Felice has been duly 
admired ; when the beautiful gardens of La Flora, with 
its wealth of sub-tropical vegetation, has been sufficiently 
promenaded on; when La Cala, a quaint little narrow, 
shallow harbor, and the busy life on its quays have been 
adequately studied ; then he who loves nature better than 
the works of man, and prefers the true eternal to the 
merely figurative " immortal," will confess to himself 
that Palermo has nothing fairer, nothing more captivat- 
ing, to show than that chef-d' ccuvre which the Supreme 
Artificer executed in shaping those noble lines of rock in 
which Pellegrino descends to the city at its foot, and in 
tracing that curve of coast-line upon which the city has 
sprung up under the mountain's shadow. The view of 
this guardian and patron height, this tutelary rock, as one 
might almost fancy it, of the Sicilian capital is from all 
points and at all hours beautiful. It dominates the city 
and the sea alike from whatever point one contemplates 
it, and the bold yet soft beauty of its contours has in 
every aspect a never-failing charm. The merest lounger, 
the most frivolous of promenaders in Palermo, should 
congratulate himself on having always before his eyes a 
mountain, the mere sight of which may be almost de- 
scribed as a " liberal education " in poetry and art. He 
should haunt the Piazza Marina, however, not merely at 



THE PIAZZA MARINA 323 

the promenading time of day, but then also, na)^ then 
most of all, when the throng has begun to thin, and, as 
Homer puts it, " all the ways are shadowed," at 
the hour of sunset. For then the clear Mediterranean 
air is at its clearest, the fringing foam at its whitest, the 
rich, warm background of the Conca d'Oro at its mellow- 
est, while the bare, volcanic-looking sides of Monte Pelle- 
grino seem fusing into ruddy molten metal beneath the 
slanting rays„ Gradually, as you watch the color die out 
of it, almost as it dies out of a snow-peak at the fading 
of the Alpen-gluth, the shadows begin to creep up the 
mountain-sides, forerunners of the night which has al- 
ready fallen upon the streets of the city, and through 
which its lights are beginning to peer. A little longer, 
and the body of the mountain will be a dark, vague mass, 
with only its cone and graceful upper ridges traced faintly 
against pale depths of sky. 

Thus and at such an hour may one see the city, bay, 
and mountain at what may be called their sesthetic or 
artistic best. But they charm, and with a magic of almost 
equal potency, at all hours. The fascination remains un- 
abated to the end, and never, perhaps, is it more keenly 
felt by the traveller than when Palermo is smiling her 
God-speed upon the parting guest, and from the deck 
of the steamer which is to bear him away he waves his 
last farewell to the receding city lying couched, the love- 
liest of Ocean's Nereids, in her shell of gold. 

If his hour of departure be in the evening, when the 
rays of the westering sun strike athwart the base of Pelle- 
grino, and tip with fire the summits of the low-lying 
houses of the seaport, and stream over and past them 
upon the glowing waters of the harbor the sight is one 
which will not be soon forgotten. Dimmer and dimmer 



324 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

grows the beautiful city with the increasing distance and 
the gathering twiHght. The warm rose-tints of the noble 
mountain cool down into purple, and darken at last into 
a heavy mass of somber shadows ; the sea changes to that 
spectral silver which overspreads it in the gloaming. It 
is a race between the flying steamer and the falling night 
to hide the swiftly fading coast-line altogether from the 
view ; and so close is the contest that up to the last it 
leaves us doubtful whether it be darkness or distance that 
has taken it from us. But in a few more minutes, be it 
from one cause or from the other, the effacement is com- 
plete. Behind us, where Palermo lay a while ago, there 
looms only a bank of ever-darkening haze, and before 
the bows of our vessel the gray expanse of Mediterranean 
waters which lie between us and the Bay of Naples. 



XIV 

NAPLES 

The Bay of Naples — Vesuvius — Characteristic scenes of street 
life — The alfresco restaurafnts — Chapel of St. Januarius — 
Virgil's Tomb — Capri, the Mecca of artists and lovers of the 
picturesque — The Emperor Tiberius — Description of the Blue 
Grotto — The coast-road from Castellamare to Sorrento — 
Amalfi — Sorrento, " the village of flowers and the flower of 
villages " — The Temples of Psestum. 

NAPLES in itself, apart from its surrounding's, is 
not of surpassing beauty. Its claim to be " the 
most beautiful city in Europe " rests solely on 
the adventitious aid of situation. When the fictitious 
charm which distance gives is lost by a near approach, 
it will be seen that the city which has inspired the poets 
of all ages is little more than a huge, bustling, common- 
place commercial port, not to be compared for a moment, 
aesthetically speaking, with Genoa, Florence, Venice, or 
many other Italian towns equally well known to the 
traveller. This inherent lack is, however, more than 
compensated for by the unrivaled natural beauties of its 
position, and of its charming environs. No town in Eu- 
rope, not Palermo with its " Golden Shell," Constanti- 
nople with its " Golden Horn," nor Genoa, the " Gem 
of the Riviera," can boast of so magnificent a situation. 
The traveller who approaches Naples by sea may well 
be excused for any exuberance of language. As the ship 

32s 



326 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

enters the Gulf, passing between the beautiful isles of 
Ischia and Capri, which seem placed like twin outposts 
to guard the entrance of this watery paradise the scene is 
one which will not soon ° fade from the memory. All 
around stretches the bay in its azure immensity, its sweep- 
ing curves bounded on the right by the rocky Sorren- 
tine promontory, with Sorrento, Meta, and a cluster of 
little fishing villages nestling in the olive-clad precipices, 
half hidden by orange groves and vineyards, and the ma- 
jestic form of Monte Angelo towering above. Farther 
along the coast, Vesuvius, the tutelary genius of the 
scene, arrests the eye, its vine-clad lower slopes present- 
ing a startling contrast to the dark cone of the volcano 
belching out fire and smoke, a terrible earnest of the 
hidden powers within. On the left the graceful undula- 
tions of the Camaldoli hills descend to the beautifully 
indented bay of Pozzuoli, which looks like a miniature 
Nuovo for its Vesuvius. Then straight before the specta- 
tor lies a white mass like a marble quarry; this, with a 
white projecting line losing itself in the graceful curve 
of Vesuvius, resolves itself, as the steamer draws nearer, 
into Naples and its suburbs of Portici and Torre del 
Greco. Be3^ond, in the far background, the view is shut 
in by a phantom range of snowy peaks, an offshoot of 
the Abruzzi Mountains, faintly discerned in the purple 
haze of the horizon. All these varied prospects unite to 
form a panorama which, for beauty and extent, is hardly 
to be matched in Europe. 

This bald and inadequate description may perhaps 
serve to explain one reason for the pre-eminence among 
the many beautiful views in the South of Europe popu- 
larly allowed to the Bay of Naples. One must attribute 
replica of the parent gulf with the volcano of Monte 



THE BAY OF NAPLES 327 

the aesthetic attraction of the Bay a good deal to the 
variety of beautiful and striking objects comprised in 
the view. Here we have not merely a magnificent bay 
with noble, sweeping curves (the deeply indented coasts 
of the Mediterranean boast many more extensive), but 
in addition we have in this comparatively circumscribed 
area an unequaled combination of sea, mountain, and 
island scenery. In short, the Gulf of Naples, with its 
islands, capes, bays, straits, and peninsulas, is an epit- 
ome of the principal physical features of the globe, and 
might well serve as an object lesson for a child making 
its first essay at geography. Then, too, human interest 
is not lacking. The mighty city of Naples, like a huge 
octopus, stretches out its feelers right and left, forming 
the straggling towns and villages which lie along the 
eastern and western shores of the bay. A more plausible, 
if prosaic, reason for the popularity of the Bay of Naples 
may, however, be found in its familiarity. Naples and 
Vesuvius are as well known to us in prints, photographs, 
or engravings as St. Paul's Cathedral or the Houses of 
Parliament. If other famous bays, Palermo or Corinth, 
for instance, were equally well known, that of Naples 
would have many rivals in popular estimation. 

The traveller feels landing a terrible anticlimax. The 
noble prospect of the city and the bay has raised his ex- 
pectations to the highest pitch, and the disenchantment 
is all the greater. The sordid surroundings of the port, 
the worst quarter of the city, the squalor and" filth of the 
streets, preceded by the inevitable warfare with the ra- 
pacious rabble of yelling boatmen, porters, and cab- 
drivers, make the disillusionized visitor inclined to place 
a sinister interpretation on the equivocal maxim, Vcdi 
Napoli e poi. niori; and Goethe's aphorism, that a man 



328 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

can never be utterly miserable who retains the recollec- 
tion of Naples, seems to him the hoUowest mockery and 
the cruellest irony. 

The streets of Naples are singularly lacking in archi- 
tectural interest. Not only are there few historic build- 
ings or monuments, which is curious when we consider 
the important part Naples played in the mediaeval history 
of the South of Europe, but there are not many hand- 
some modern houses or palaces of any pretensions. Not 
that Naples is wanting in interest. The conventional 
sight-seer, who calls a place interesting in proportion to 
the number of pages devoted to its principal attractions 
in the guide-books, may, perhaps, contemptuously dis- 
miss this great city as a place which can be sufficiently 
well ■' done " in a couple of days ; but to the student of 
human nature Naples offers a splendid field in its varied 
and characteristic scenes of street life. To those who 
look below the surface, this vast hive of humanity, in 
which Italian life can be studied in all its varied phases 
and aspects, cannot be wholly commonplace. 

It is a truism that the life of Naples must be seen in 
the streets. The street is the Neapolitan's bedroom, 
dining-room, dressing-room, club, and recreation ground. 
The custom of making the streets the home is not con- 
fined to the men. The fair sex are fond of performing 
al fresco toilettes, and may frequently be seen mutually 
assisting each other in the dressing of their magnificent 
hair in full view of the passers-by. 

As in Oriental cities, certain trades are usually con- 
fined to certain streets or alleys in the poorer quarters 
of the town. The names at street corners show that this 
custom is a long-established one. There are streets solely 
for cutlers, working jewelers, second-hand bookstalls, 



PIAZZA DEGLI OREFICI 329 

and old clothes shops, to name a few of the staple trades. 
The most curious of these trading-streets is one not far 
from the Cathedral, confined to the sale of religious 
wares; shrines, tawdry images, cheap crucifixes, crosses, 
and rosaries make up the contents of these ecclesiastical 
marine stores. This distinctive local character of the 
various arts and crafts is now best exemplified in the 
Piazza de'gli Orefici. This square and the adjoining 
streets are confined to silversmiths and jewelers, and 
here the characteristic ornaments of the South Italian 
peasant women can still be bought, though they are be- 
ginning to be replaced by the cheap, machine-made 
abominations of Birmingham. Apart from the throng- 
ing crowds surging up and down, these narrow streets 
and alleys are full of dramatic interest. The curious 
characteristic habits and customs of the people may best 
be studied in the poor quarters round the Cathedral. He 
who would watch this shifting and ever-changing human 
kaleidoscope must not, however, expect to do it while 
strolling leisurely along. This would be as futile as at- 
tempting to stem the ebb and flow of the street currents, 
for the streets are narrow and the traffic abundant. A 
doorway will be found a convenient harbor of refuge 
from the long strings of heavily laden mules and don- 
keys which largely replace vehicular traffic. A common 
and highly picturesque object is the huge charcoal- 
burner's wagon, drawn usually by three horses abreast. 
The richly decorated pad of the harness is very notice- 
able, with its brilliant array of gaudy brass flags and the 
shining repousse plates, with figures of the Madonna 
and the saints, which, together with the Pagan symbols 
of horns and crescents, are supposed to protect the horses 
from harm. Unfortunately these talismans do not seem 



330 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

able to protect them from the brutality of their masters. 
The Neapolitan's cruelty to animals is proverbial. This 
characteristic is especially noticeable on Festas and Sun- 
days. A Neapolitan driver apparently considers the seat- 
ing capacity of a vehicle and the carrying power of a 
horse to be limited only by the number of passengers who 
can contrive to hang on, and with anything less than a 
dozen perched on the body of the cart, two or three in 
the net, and a couple on the shafts, he will think himself 
weakly indulgent to his steed. It is on the Castellamare 
Road on a Festa that the visitor will best realize the 
astonishing elasticity of a Neapolitan's notions as to the 
powers of a beast of burden. A small pony will often 
be seen doing its best to drag uphill a load of twelve or 
fifteen hulking adults, incited to its utmost efforts by 
physical suasion in the form of sticks and whips, and 
moral suasion in the shape of shrill yells and oaths. 
Their diabolical din seems to give some color to the say- 
ing that " Naples is a paradise inhabited by devils." 

The al fresco restaurants of the streets are curious and 
instructive. That huge jar of oil simmering on a char- 
coal fire denotes a fried-fish stall, where fish and " oil- 
cakes " are retailed at one sou a portion. These stalls 
are much patronized by the very poor, with whom maca- 
roni is an almost unattainable luxury. At street corners 
a snail-soup stall may often be seen, conspicuous by its 
polished copper pot. The poor consider snails a great 
delicacy; and in this they are only following ancient 
customs, for even in Roman times snails were in demand, 
if we may judge from the number of snail-shells found 
among the Pompeii excavations. A picturesque feature 
are the herds of goats. These ambulating dairies stream 
through the town in the early morning. The intelligent 



THEACOUAIOLO 331 

beasts know their customers, and each flock has its regu- 
lar beat, which it takes of its own accord. Sometimes the 
goats are milked in the streets, the pail being let down 
from the upper floors of the house's by a string, a pris- 
tine type of ascenseur. Generally, though, the animal 
mounts the stairs to be milked, and descends again in 
the most matter-of-fact manner. 

The gaudily painted stalls of the iced-water and lemon- 
ade dealers give warmth of color to the streets. There 
are several grades in the calling of acquaiolo (water- 
seller). The lowest member of the craft is the peripatetic 
acquaiolo, who goes about furnished simply with a bar- 
rel of iced water strapped on his back, and a basket of 
lemons slung to his waist, and dispenses drinks at two 
centesimi a tumbler. It was thought that the comple- 
tion of the Serino aqueduct, which provides the whole 
of Naples with excellent water at the numerous public 
fountains, would do away with the time-honored water- 
seller; but it seems that the poorer classes cannot do 
without a flavoring of some sort, and so this humble fra- 
ternity continue as a picturesque adjunct of the streets. 
These are only a few of the more striking objects of 
interest which the observer will not fail to notice in his 
walks through the city. But we must leave this fascinat- 
ing occupation and turn to some of the regulation sights 
of Naples. 

Though, in proportion to its size, Naples contains 
fewer sights and specific objects of interest than any 
other city in Italy, there are still a few public buildings 
and churches which the tourist should not neglect. There 
are quite half-a-dozen churches out of the twenty-five or 
thirty noticed by the guide-books which fully repay the 
trouble of visiting them. The Cathedral is in the old 



332 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

part of the town. Its chief interest lies in the gorgeous 
Chapel of St. Januarius, the patron saint of Naples. In 
a silver shrine under the richly decorated altar is the 
famous phial containing the coagulated blood of the saint. 
This chapel was built at the beginning of the seventeenth 
century, in fulfilment of a vow by the grateful populace 
in honor of the saint who had saved their city " from the 
fire of Vesuvius by the intercession of his precious blood." 
St. Januarius is held in the highest veneration by the 
lower classes of Naples, with whom the liquefaction 
ceremony, which takes place twice a year, is an article 
of faith in which they place the most implicit reliance. 
The history of the holy man is too well known to need 
repetition here. The numerous miracles attributed to 
him., and the legends which have grown round his name, 
would make no inconsiderable addition to the hagiologi- 
cal literature of Italy. 

Of the other churches, Sta. Chiara, S. Domenico Mag- 
giore. and S. Lorenzo are best worth visiting. In build- 
ing Sta. Chiara the architect would seem to have aimed 
at embodying, as far as possible, the idea of the church 
militant, the exterior resembling a fortress rather than a 
place of worship. In accordance with the notions of 
church restoration which prevailed in the last century, 
Giotto's famous frescoes have been covered with a thick 
coating of whitewash, the sapient official who was re- 
sponsible for the restoration considering these paintings 
too dark and gloomy for mural decoration. Now the 
most noteworthy objects in the church are the Gothic 
tombs of the Angevin kings. 

The two churches of S. Domenico and S. Lorenzo are 
not far ofif, and the sightseer in this city of " magnificent 
distances " is grateful to the providence which has placed 



THE NATIONAL MUSEUM 333 

the three most interesting churches in Naples within a 
comparatively circumscribed area. S. Domenico should 
be visited next, as it contains some of the best examples 
of Renaissance sculpture in Naples, as Sta. Chiara does 
of Gothic art. It was much altered and repaired in the 
course of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but 
still remains one of the handsomest of the Neapolitan 
churches. It« most important monument is the marble 
group in relief of the Virgin, with SS. Matthew and 
John, by Giovanni da Nola, which is considered to be 
the sculptor's best work. The Gothic church of S. 
Lorenzo has fortunately escaped in part the disfiguring 
hands of the seventeenth century restorer. This church 
is of some literary and historical interest, Petrarch hav- 
ing spent several months in the adjoining monastery; 
and it was here that Boccaccio saw the beautiful princess 
immortalized in his tales by the name of Fiammetta. 

In order to appreciate the true historical and geo- 
graphical significance of Naples, we must remember that 
the whole of this volcanic district is one great palimpsest, 
and that it is only with the uppermost and least impor- 
tant inscription that we have hitherto concerned our- 
selves. To form an adequate idea of this unique coun- 
try we must set ourselves to decipher the earlier-written 
inscriptions. For this purpose we must visit the Na- 
tional Museum, which contains rich and unique collec- 
tions of antiquities elsewhere absolutely unrepresented. 
Here will be found the best treasures from the buried 
towns of Cumse, Herculaneum, and Pompeii. The his- 
tory of nearly a thousand years may be read in this vast 
necropolis of ancient art. 

To many, however, the living present has a deeper in- 
terest than the buried past, and to these the innumerable 



334 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

beautiful excursions round Naples will prove more at- 
tractive than all the wealth of antiquities in the Museum. 
Certainly, from a purely aesthetic standpoint, all the best 
things in Naples are out of it if the bull may be allowed. 
To reach Pozzuoli and the classic district of Baise and 
Cumse, we pass along the fine promenade of the Villa 
Nazionale, which stretches from the Castello dell' Ovo 
(the Bastille of Naples) to the Posilipo promontory, 
commanding, from end to end, superb unobstructed views 
of the Bay. Capri, the central point of the prospect, ap- 
pears to change its form from day to day, like a fairy 
island. Sometimes, on a cloudless day, the fantastic out- 
lines of the cliffs stand out clearly defined against the 
blue sea and the still bluer background of the sky; the 
houses are plainly distinguished, and you can almost 
fancy that you can descry the groups of idlers leaning 
over the parapet of the little piazza, so clear is the atmos- 
phere. Sometimes the island is bathed in a bluish haze, 
and by a curious atmospheric effect a novel form of 
Fata Morgana is seen, the island, appearing to be lifted 
out of the water and suspended between sea and sky. 

The grounds of the Villa Nazionale are extensive, and 
laid out with taste, but are disfigured by inferior plaster 
copies, colossal in size, of famous antique statues. It 
is strange that Naples, while possessing some of the 
greatest masterpieces of ancient sculptors, should be 
satisfied with these plastic monstrosities for the adorn- 
ment of its most fashionable promenade. The most in- 
teresting feature of the Villa Nazionale is the Aquarium. 
It is not merely a show place, but an international bio- 
logical station, and, in fact, the portion open to the public 
consists only of the spare tanks of the laboratory. This 



VIRGIL'S TOMB 335 

institution is the most important of its kind in Europe, 
and is supported by the principal European Universities, 
who each pay for so many " tables." 

At the entrance to the tunneled highway known as the 
Grotto di Posilipo, which burrows through the promon- 
tory that forms the western bulwark of Naples, and 
serves as a barrier to shut out the noise of that over- 
grown city, is' a columbarium known as Virgil's Tomb. 
The guide-books, with their superior erudition, speak 
rather contemptuously of this historic spot as the " so- 
called tomb of Virgil." Yet historical evidence seems to 
point to the truth of the tradition which has assigned 
this spot as the place where Virgil's ashes were once 
placed. A visit to this tomb is a suitable introduction to 
the neighborhood of which Virgil seems to be the tutelary 
genius. Along the sunny slopes of Posilipo the poet 
doubtless occasionally wended his way to the villa of 
Lucullus, at the extreme end of the peninsula. Leaving 
the gloomy grotto, the short cut to Pozzuoli, on our 
right, we begin to mount the far-famed " Corniche " of 
Posilipo, which skirts the cliffs of the promontory. The 
road at first passes the fashionable Mergellina suburb, 
fringed by an almost uninterrupted series of villa gar- 
dens. This is, perhaps, one of the most beautiful drives 
in the South of Europe. Every winding discloses views 
which are at once the despair and the delight of the 
painter. At every turn we are tempted to stop and feast 
the eyes on the glorious prospect. Perhaps of all the 
fine views in and around Naples, that from the Capo di 
PosiHpo is the most striking, and dwells longest in the 
memory. At one's feet lies Naples, its whitewashed 
houses glittering bright in the flood of sunshine. Beyond, 



336 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

across the deep blue waters of the gulf, Vesuvius, the 
evil genius of this smiling country, arrests the eye, from 
whose summit, like a halo, 

" A wreath of light blue vapor, pure and rare, 

Mounts, scarcely seen against the deep blue sky; 

. . . It forms, dissolving there. 
The dome, as of a palace, hung on high 
Over the mountains." 

Portici, Torre del Greco, and Torre dell' Annunziata 
can hardly be distinguished in this densely populated . 
fringe of coast-line, which extends from Naples to Cas- 
tellamare'. Sometimes at sunset we have a magnificent 
effect. This sea-wall of continuous towns and villages 
lights up under the dying rays of the sun like glowing 
charcoal. The conflagration appears to spread to Naples, 
and the huge city is " lit up like Sodom, as if fired by 
some superhuman agency." This atmospheric phenome- 
non may remind the imaginative spectator of the dread 
possibilities afforded by the proximity of the ever- 
threatening volcano towering in tcrroreni over the thickly 
populated plain. There is a certain weird charm, born 
of impending danger, which gives the whole district a 
pre-eminence in the world of imagination. It has passed 
through its baptism of fire ; and who knows how soon 
" the dim things below " may be preparing a similar fate 
for a city so rashly situated? These dismal reflections 
are, however, out of place on the peaceful slopes of 
Posilipo, whose very name denotes freedom from care. 

The shores of this promontory are thickly strewed with 
Roman ruins, which are seldom explored owing to their 
comparative inaccessibility. Most of the remains, thea- 



MONTE NUOVO 337 

ters, temples, baths, porticoes, and other buildings, whose 
use or nature defies the learning of the antiquary, are 
thought to be connected with the extensive villa of the 
notorious epicure Vedius Polio. Traces of the fish-tanks 
for the eels, which Seneca tells us were fed with the flesh 
of disobedient slaves, are still visible. Descending the 
winding gradients of Posilipo, we get the first glimpse 
of the lovely little Bay of Pozzuoli. The view is curious 
and striking. So deeply and sharply indented is the 
coast, and so narrow and tortuous are the channels that 
separate the islands Ischia, Procida. and Nisida, that it 
is' difficult to distinguish the mainland. We enjoy a 
unique panorama of land and sea, islands, bays, straits, 
capes, and peninsulas all inextricably intermingled. 

Continuing our journey past the picturesque town of 
Pozzuoli, its semi-oriental looking houses clustered to- 
gether on a rocky headland, like Monaco, we reach the 
hallowed ground of the classical student. No one who 
has read his Virgil or his Horace at school can help 
being struck by the constant succession of once familiar 
names scattered so thickly among the dry bones of the 
guide-books. The district between Cumse and Pozzuoli 
is the sanctum sanctorum of classical Italy, and " there 
is scarcely a spot which is not identified with the poetical 
mythology of Greece, or associated with some name fa- 
miliar in the history of Rome." Leaving Pozzuoli, we 
skirt the Phlegrsean Fields, which, owing to their malaria- 
haunted situation, still retain something of their ancient 
sinister character. This tract is, however, now being 
drained and cultivated a good deal. That huge mound 
on our right, looking like a Celtic sepulchral barrow, is 
Monte Nuovo, a volcano, as its name denotes, of recent 
origin. Geologically speaking, it is a thing of yesterday, 



338 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

being- thrown up in the great earthquake of September 
30th, 1538, when, as Alexandre Dumas graphically puts 
it, " One morning Pozzuoli woke up, looked around, and 
could not recognize its position ; where had been the night 
before a lake was now a mountain." The lake referred 
to is Avernus, a name familiar to all through the vener- 
able and invariably misquoted classical tag, focilis descen- 
sus Averni, etc. This insignificant-looking volcanic mole- 
hill is the key to the physical geography of the whole 
district. Though the upheaval of Monte Nuovo has 
altered the configuration of the country round, the de- 
population of this deserted but fertile country is due, 
not to the crater, but to the malaria, the scourge of the 
coast. The scarcity of houses on the western horn of 
the Bay of Naples is very marked, especially when con- 
trasted with the densely populated sea-board on the Cas- 
tellamare side. Leaving Monte Nuovo we come to a 
still more fertile tract of country, and the luxuriant 
vegetation of these Avernine hills " radiant with vines " 
contrasts pleasingly with the gloomy land " where the 
dusky nation of Cimmeria dwells " of the poet. The 
mythological traditions of the beautiful plain a few miles 
farther on, covered with vineyards and olive-groves and 
bright with waving corn-fields, where Virgil has placed 
the Elysian Fields, seem far more appropriate to the 
landscape as we see it. Perhaps a sense of the dramatic 
contrast was present in the poet's mind when he placed 
the Paradiso and the Inferno of the ancients so near 
together. 

Quite apart from the charm with which ancient fable 
and poetry have invested this district, the astonishing 
profusion of ruins makes it especially interesting to the 
antiquary, A single morning's walk in the environs of 



CAPRI 339 

Baise or Cumce will reveal countless fragmentary monu- 
ments of antiquities quite outside of the stock ruins of 
the guide-books, which the utilitarian instincts of the 
country people only partially conceal, Roman tombs serv- 
ing as granaries or receptacles for garden produce, tem- 
ples affording stable-room for goats and donkeys, am- 
phitheaters half-concealed by olive-orchards or orange- 
groves, walls of ancient villas utilized in building up the 
terraced vineyards ; and, in short, the trained eye of an 
antiquary would, in a day's walk, detect a sufficient quan- 
tity of antique material almost to reconstruct another 
Pompeii. But though every acre of this antiquary's para- 
dise teems with relics of the past, and though every bay 
and headland is crowded with memories of the greatest 
names in Roman history, we must not linger in this su- 
premely interesting district, but must get on to the other 
beautiful features of the Gulf of Naples. 

Capri, as viewed from Naples, is the most attractive 
and striking feature in the Bay. There is a kind of fas- 
cination about this rocky island-garden which is felt 
equally by the callow tourist making his first visit to 
Italy, and by the seasoned traveller who knew Capri when 
it was the center of an art colony as well known as is 
that of Newlyn at the present day. No doubt Capri is 
now considered by super-sensitive people to be as hope- 
lessly vulgarized and hackneyed as the Isle of Man or 
the Channel Isles, now that it has become the favorite 
picknicking ground of shoals of Neapolitan excursionists ; 
but that is the fate of most of the beautiful scenery 
in the South of Europe, if at all easy of access. These 
fastidious minds may, however, find consolation in the 
thought that to the noisy excursionists, daily carried to 
and from Naples by puffing little cockle-shell steamers, 



340 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

the greater part of the island will always remain an un- 
discovered country. They may swarm up the famous 
steps of Anacapri, and even penetrate into the Blue 
Grotto, but they do not, as a rule, carry the spirit of 
geographical research farther. 

The slight annoyance caused by the great crowds is 
amply compensated for by the beauties of the extraor- 
dinarily grand scenery which is to be found within the 
island desecrated by memories of that " deified beast 
Tiberius," as Dickens calls him. What constitutes the 
chief charm of the natural features of Capri are the sharp 
contrasts and the astonishing variety in the scenery. 
Rugged precipices, in height exceeding the cliffs of Tin- 
tagel, and in beauty and boldness of outline surpassing 
the crags of the grandest Norwegian fiords, wall in a 
green and fertile garden-land covered with orange- 
orchards, olive-groves, and corn-fields. Cruising round 
this rock-bound and apparently inaccessible island, it 
seems a natural impregnable fortress, a sea-girt Gibral- 
tar guarding the entrance of the gulf, girdled round with 
precipitous crags rising a thousand feet sheer out of the 
sea, the clifif outline broken by steep ravines and rocky 
headlands, with outworks of crags, reefs, and Titanic 
masses of tumbled rocks. 

These physical contrasts are strikingly paralleled in 
the history of the island. This little speck on the earth's 
surface, now given up solely to fishing, pastoral pursuits, 
and the exploitation of tourists, and as little affected by 
public affairs as if it were in the midst of the Mediter- 
ranean, instead of being almost within cannon-shot of the 
metropolis of South Italy, has passed through many 
vicissitudes, conquered in turn by Phoenicians Greeks, 
and Romans; under Rome little known and used merely 



TIBERIUS 341 

as a lighthouse station for the benefit of the corn -galleys 
plying from Sicily to Naples, till the old Emperor Au- 
gustus took a fancy to it, and used it as a sanatorium 
for his declining years. Some years later we find this 
isolated rock in the occupation of the infamous Tiberius, 
as the seat of government from which he ruled the des- 
tinies of the whole empire. Then, to run rapidly through 
succeeding centuries, we find Capri, after the fall of 
Rome, sharing in the fortunes and misfortunes of Naples, 
and losing all historic individuality till the beginning of 
the present century, when the Neapolitan Gibraltar be- 
came a political shuttlecock, tossed about in turn between 
Naples, England, and France ; and now it complacently 
accepts the destiny Nature evidently marked out for it, 
and has become the sanatorium of Naples, and the Mecca 
of artists and lovers of the picturesque. 

One cannot be many hours in Capri without being 
reminded of its tutelary genius Tiberius. In fact as Mr. 
A. J. Symonds has forcibly expressed it, " the hoof-print 
of illustrious crime is stamped upon the island." All 
the religio loci, if such a phrase 'is permissible in connec- 
tion with Tiberius, seems centered in this unsavoury per- 
sonality. We cannot get away from him. His palaces 
and villas seem to occupy every prominent point in the 
island. Even the treasure-trove of the antiquary bears 
undying witness to his vices, and shows that Suetonius, 
in spite of recent attempts to whitewash the Emperor's 
niemory, did not trust to mere legends and fables for his 
biography. Even the most ardent students of Roman 
history would surely be glad to be rid of this forbidding 
spectre that forces itself so persistently on their atten- 
tion. To judge by the way in which the simple Capriotes 
seek to perpetuate the name of their illustrious patron, 



342 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

one mig-ht almost suppose that the Emperor, whose name 
is proverbial as a personification of crime and vice, had 
gone through some process akin to canonization. 

Capri, though still famous for beautiful women, whose 
classic features, statuesque forms, and graceful carriage, 
recall the Helens and the Aphrodites of the Capitol and 
Vatican, and seem to invite transfer to the painter's can- 
vas, can no longer be called the " artist's paradise." The 
pristine simplicity of these Grecian-featured daughters 
of the island, which made them invaluable as models, is 
now to a great extent lost. The march of civilization 
has imbued them with the commercial instinct, and they 
now fully appreciate their artistic value. No casual hap- 
hazard sketches of a picturescpe group of peasant girls, 
pleased to be of service to a stranger, no impromptu por- 
traiture of a little Capriote fisher-boy, is now possible. 
It has become a " sitting " for a consideration, just as 
if it took place in an ordinary Paris atelier or a Rome 
studio. The idea that the tourist is a gift of Providence, 
sent for their especial benefit, to be looked at in the same 
light as are the " kindly fruits of the earth," recalls to 
our mind the quaint old Indian myth of Mondamin, the 
beautiful stranger, with his garments green and yellow, 
from whose dead body sprang up the small green feath- 
ers, afterwards to be known as maize. However, the 
Capriotes turn their visitors to better account than that ; 
in fact, their eminently practical notions on the point ap- 
pear to gain ground in this once unsophisticated coun- 
try, while the recognized methods of agriculture remain 
almost stationary. The appearance of a visitor armed 
with sketch-book or camera is now the signal for every 
male and female Capriote within range to pose in forced 



THE BLUE GROTTO 343 

and would-be graceful attitudes, or to arrange them- 
selves in unnatural conventional groups : aged crones 
sprout up, as if by magic, on every doorstep ; male loung- 
ers " lean airily on posts " ; while at all points of the 
compass bashful maidens hover around, each balancing 
on her head the indispensable water- jar. These vul- 
garizing tendencies explain why it is that painters are 
now beginning to desert Capri. 

But we are forgetting the great boast of Capri, the 
Blue Grotto. Everyone has heard of this famous cave, 
the beauties of which have been described by Mr. A. 
J. Symonds in the following graphic and glowing pic- 
ture in prose : Entering the crevice-like portal, " you 
find yourself transported to a world of wavering, suba- 
queous sheen. The grotto is domed in many chambers ; 
and the water is so clear that you can see the bottom, 
silvery, with black-finned fishes diapered upon the blue- 
white sand. The flesh of a diver in this water showed 
like the face of children playing at snap-dragon; all 
around him the spray leaped up with living fi're ; and 
when the oars struck the surface, it was as though a 
phosphorescent sea had been smitten, and the drops ran 
from the blades in blue pearls." It must, however, be 
remembered that these marvels can only be perfectly 
seen on a clear and sunny day, and when, too, the sun 
is high in the sky. Given these favorable conditions, 
the least impressionable must feel the magic of the scene, 
and enjoy the shifting brilliancy of light and color. The 
spectators seem bathed in liquid sapphire, and the sen- 
sation of being enclosed in a gem is strange indeed. But 
we certainly shall not experience any such sensation if 
we explore this lovely grotto in the company of the 



344 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

noisy and excited tourists who daily arrive in shoals by 
the Naples steamer. To appreciate its beauties the cave 
must be visited alone and at leisure. 

Those who complain of the village of Capri being so 
sadly modernized and tourist-ridden will find at Anacapri 
some of that Arcadian simplicity they are seeking, for the 
destroying (aesthetically speaking) fingers of progress 
and civilization have hardly touched this secluded moun- 
tain village, though scarcely an hour's walk from the 
" capital " of the island. 

We will, of course, take the famous steps, and ignore 
the excellently engineered high-road that winds round 
the cliffs, green with arbutus and myrtle, in serpentine 
gradients, looking from the heights above mere loops of 
white ribbon. Anacapri is delightfully situated in a 
richly cultivated table-land, at the foot of Monte Solaro. 
Climbing the slopes of the mountain, we soon reach the 
Hermitage, where we have a fine bird's-eye view of the 
island, with Anacapri spread out at our feet, and the 
town of Capri clinging to the hillsides on our right. But 
a far grander view rewards our final climb to the summit. 
We can see clearly outlined every beautiful feature of 
the Bay of Naples, with its magnificent coast-line from 
Misenum to Sorrento in prominent relief almost at our 
feet, and raising our eyes landwards we can see the 
Campanian Plain till it is merged in the purple haze of 
the Apennines. To the south the broad expanse of water 
stretches away to the far horizon, and to the right this 
incomparable prospect is bounded by that " enchanted 
land " where 



" Sweeps the bine Salernian bay, 
With its sickle of white sand." 



SORRENTO 345 

and on a very clear day we can faintly discern a purple, 
jagged outline, which shows where " Psestum and its 
ruins lie." 

In spite of the undeniable beauties of Capri, it seems 
so given up to artists and amateur photographers that 
it is a relief to get away to a district not quite so well 
known. We have left to the last, as a fitting climax, the 
most beautiful bit of country, not only in the neighbor- 
hood of Naples, but in the whole of South Italy. The 
coast-road from Castellamare to Sorrento, Positano, and 
Amalfi ofifers a delightful alternation and combination 
of the softest idyllic scenery with the wildest and most 
magnificent mountain and crag landscape. In fact, it is 
necessary to excise some self-restraint in language and to 
curb a temptation to rhapsodize when describing this 
beautiful region. The drive from Naples to Castellamare 
is almost one continuous suburb, and the change from this 
monotonous succession of streets of commonplace houses 
to the beautiful country we reach soon after leaving 
the volcanic district at Castellamare is very marked. In 
the course of our journey we cannot help noticing the 
bright yellow patches of color on the beach and the 
flat house-tops. This is the wheat used for the manu- 
facture of macaroni, of which Torre dell' Annunziata is 
the great center. All along the road the houses, too, have 
their loggias and balconies festooned with the strips of 
finished macaroni spread out to dry. All this lights up 
the dismal prospect of apparently never-ending buildings, 
and gives a literally local color to the district. There 
is not much to delay the traveller in Castellamare, and 
soon after leaving the overcrowded and rather evil-smell- 
ing town we enter upon the beautiful coast-road to Sor- 
rento. For the first few miles the road runs near the 



346 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

shore, sometimes almost overhanging the sea. We soon 
get a view of Vico, picturesquely situated on a rocky 
eminence. The scenery gets bolder as we climb the 
Punta di Scutola. From this promontory we get the 
first glimpse of the beautiful Piano di Sorrento. It looks 
like one vast garden, so thickly is it covered with vine- 
yards, olive groves, and orange and lemon orchards, 
with an occasional aloe and palm tree to give an Oriental 
touch to the landscape. The bird's-eye view from the 
promontory gives the spectator a general impression of 
a carpet, in which the prevailing tones of color are the 
richest greens and gold. Descending to this fertile 
plateau, we find a delightful blending of the sterner 
elements of the picturesque with the pastoral and idyllic. 
The. plain is intersected with romantic, craggy ravines 
and precipitous, tortuous gorges, resembling the ancient 
stone quarries of Syracuse, their rugged sides covered 
with olives, wild vines, aloes, and Indian figs. The 
road to Amalfi here leaves the sea and is carried through 
the heart of this rich and fertile region, and about three 
miles from Sorrento it begins to climb the little moun- 
tain range which separates the Sorrento plain from the 
Bay of Salerno. 

We can hardly, however, leave the level little town, 
consecrated to memories of Tasso, unvisited. Its flowers 
and its gardens, next to its picturesque situation, con- 
stitute the great charm of Sorrento. It seems a kind of 
garden-picture, its peaceful and smiling aspect contrast- 
ing strangely with its bold and stern situation. Cut 
off, a natural fortress, from the rest of the peninsula by 
precipitous gorges, like Constantine in Algeria, while its 
sea-front consists of a precipice descending sheer to the 
water's edge, no wonder that it invites comparison with 



AMALFI AND SALERNO 347 

such dissimilar towns as Grasse, Monaco, Amalfi and 
Constantine, according to the aspect which first strikes 
the visitor. After seeing Sorrento, with its astonishing 
wealth of flowers, the garden walls overflowing with 
cataracts of roses, and the scent of acacias, orange and 
lemon flowers pervading everything, we begin to think 
that, in comparing the oudying plain of Sorrento to a 
flower-garden, we have been too precipitate. Compared 
with Sorrento itself, the plain is but a great orchard or 
market-garden. Sorrento is the real flower-garden, a 
miniature Florence, " the village of flowers and the 
flower of villages."' 

We leave Sorrento and its gardens and continue our 
excursion to Amalfi and Salerno. After reaching the 
point at the summit of the Colline del Piano, whence 
we get our first view of the famous Isles of the 
Syrens, looking far more picturesque than in- 
viting, with their sharp, jagged outline, we come 
in sight of a magnificent stretch of cliff and 
mountain scenery. The limestone precipices extend 
uninterruptedly for miles, their outline broken by a series 
of stupendous pinnacles, turrets, obelisks, and pyramids 
cutting sharply into the blue sky-line. The scenery, 
though so wild and bold is not bleak and dismal. The 
bases of these towering precipices are covered with a 
wild tangle of myrtle, arbutus, and tamarisk, and wild 
vines and prickly pears have taken root in the ledges and 
crevices. The ravines and gorges which relieve the uni- 
formity of this great sea-wall of cliff have their lower 
slopes covered with terraced and trellised orchards of 
lemons and oranges, an irregular mass of green and gold. 
Positano, after Amalfi, is certainly the most picturesque 
place on these shores, and, being less known, and con- 



348 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

sequently not so much reproduced in idealized sketches 
and " touched up " photographs as Amalfi, its first view 
must come upon the traveller rather as a delightful sur- 
prise. Its situaLion is curious. The town is built along 
each side of a huge ravine, cut off from access landwards 
by an immense wall of precipices. The houses climb the 
craggy slopes in an irregular ampitheater, at every va- 
• riety of elevation and level, and the views from the 
heights above give a general effect of a cataract of houses 
having been poured down each side of the gorge. After 
a few miles of the grandest cliff and mountain scenery 
we reach the Capo di Conca, which juts out into the bay, 
dividing it into two crescents. Looking west, we see a 
broad stretch of mountainous country, where 

" A few white villages 

Scattered above, below, some in the clouds. 
Some on the margins of the dark blue sea. 
And glittering through their lemon groves, announce 
The region of Amalfi." 

To attempt to describe Amalfi seems a hopeless task. 
The churches, towers, and arcaded houses, scattered 
about in picturesque confusion on each side of the gigan- 
tic gorge which cleaves the precipitous mountain, gay 
with the rich coloring of Italian domestic architecture, 
make up an indescribably picturesque medley of loggias, 
arcades, balconies, domes, and cupolas, relieved by flat, 
whitewashed roofs. The play of color produced by the 
dazzling glare of the sun and the azure amplitude of sea 
and sky gives that general effect of light, color, sun- 
shine, and warmth of atmosphere which is so hard to 
portray, either with the brush or the pen. Every nook 
of this charming little rock-bound Eden affords tempting 



P^STUM 349 

material for the artist, and the whole region is rich in 
scenes suggestive of poetical ideas. 

When we look at the isolated position of this once 
famous city, shut off from the rest of Italy by a bul- 
wark of precipices, in places so overhanging the town 
that they seem to dispute its possession with the tideless 
sea which washes the walls of the houses, it is not easy 
to realize that it was recognized in mediaeval times as the 
first naval Power in Europe, owning factories and trading 
establishments in all the chief cities of the Levant, and 
producing a code of maritime laws whose leading princi- 
ples have been incorporated in modern international law. 
No traces remain of the city's ancient grandeur, and the 
visitor is tempted to look upon the history of its former 
greatness as purely legendary. 

The road to Salerno is picturesque, but not so striking 
as that between Positano and Amalfi. It is not so dar- 
ingly engineered, and the scenery is tamer. Vietri is the 
most interesting stopping-place. It is beautifully situ- 
ated at the entrance to the gorge-like valley which leads 
to what has been called the " Italian Switzerland," and 
is surrounded on all sides by lemon and orange orchards. 
Salerno will not probably detain the visitor long, and, in 
fact, the town is chiefly known to travellers as the start- 
ing-place for the famous ruins of P?estum. 

These temples, after those of Athens, are the best 
preserved, and certainly the most accessible, of any Greek 
ruins in Europe, and are a lasting witness to the 
splendor of the ancient Greek colony of Poseidonia 
(Psestum). " Non citivis hornini contingit adire Corin- 
thum," says the poet, and certainly a visit to these beau- 
tiful ruins will make one less regret the inability to visit 
the Athenian Parthenon. Though the situation of the 



350 THE MEDITERRANEAN 

Paestum Temple lacks the picturesque irregularity of the 
Acropolis, and the Temple of Girgenti in Sicily, these 
ruins will probably impress the imaginative spectator 
more. Their isolated and desolate position in the midst 
of this wild and abandoned plain, without a vestige of 
any building near, suggest an almost supernatural origin, 
and give a weird touch to this scene of lonely and ma- 
jestic grandeur. There seems a dramatic contrast in 
bringing to an end at the solemn Temples of Paestum 
our excursion in and around Naples. We began with the 
noise, bustle, and teeming life of a great twentieth- 
century city, and we have gone back some twenty-five 
centuries to the long-buried glory of Greek civilization. 



INDEX 



A 

Aboukir, and Nelson's victory, 

253-255 

About, Edmond, on the im- 
portance of Marseilles, 95 

Abruzzi Mountains, 326 

Aba-Abul-Hajez, builder of 
Moorish Castle, Gibraltar, 15 

Abyla, Phoenician name of 
Ceuta, 26 

Aci Castello, 300 

Aci Reale, 300 

Acis and Galatea, 300 

^neas and the games at 
Trapani, 318 

Africa, " Crystal atmosphere " 

of, 5 

Agate Cape, 57 

Agay, 148 

Agnone, 302 

Alameda Gardens, Gibraltar, 13 

Alassio, 159 

Alban, Mont, 143 

Alcantara, Valley of the, 300 

Alexander the Great, founding 
Alexandria, 237 

Alexandria, 96 ; appearance 
from the sea, 235 ; historical 
interest, 236; Alexander's 
choice of the site, 237; har- 



bor, 238; main street, 240; 
Grand Square, 241 ; Palace 
of Ras-et-teen, 243 ; view 
from Mount Caffarelli and 
the Delta, 244; Pompey's 
Pillar, 246 ; Library, 247 ; 
the Serapeum, cemeteries, 
mosques, Coptic convent, and 
historic landmarks, 248; de- 
feat of Antony, and Napo- 
leon, 251; Ramleh, 251; 
Temple of Arsenoe, 252; 
Aboukir Bay and Nelson, 
253, 254; Rosetta, Haroun 
Al Rashid, and the English 
expedition of 1807, 256; fer- 
tility of the Delta, 258 ; Cairo 
and the rising of the Nile, 
260; Damietta, 261; Port 
Said, 261, 262; ruins of Pelu- 
sium, 263 ; Suez Canal and 
M. de Lesseps, 264 

Algeciras, 4, 23, 24 

Algeria, 78, 97 

Algiers, 96, 123 ; " a pearl set 
in emeralds," 28; the ap- 
proach to, and the Djurjura, 
29; the Sahel, Atlas, and the 
ancient and modern towns, 
30; cathedral and mosque, 
31 ; tortuous plan of the new 



351 



352 



INDEX 



town, 33, 34; Mustapha Su- 
perieur, and English colony, 
35, 2)7 \ a Moorish villa, 38; 
view from El Biar, Arab 
cemetery, and idolatry, 39; 
superstitions and climate, 41 

Alhendin, 59 

Ali, Mehemet, 239; his works 
in Alexandria, 241, 242; de- 
stroys English troops at Ros- 
etta, 257 

Almeria, 55, 56, 57 

Alps, The, 131 ; the Julian, 147, 
148, 154 

Alpuj arras. The, 44, 55 

Altinum, 231 

Amalfi, 345, 347, 349 

Amru, 236 

Amsterdam and its canals, 219 

Anacapri, 344 

Anchises, 318 

Andre, St., 139, 143 

Angelo, Michael, and the mar- 
ble quarries at Seravezza, 197 

Ansedonia, 211 

Antibes, 96, 147, 151, 152 

Antipolis, 151 

Antony, Mark, defeated by Oc- 
tavius at Mustapha Pacha, 

251 - 

Apes' Hill, English designation 
of Ceuta, 26 

Aquas Sextiae, or Aix, Roman 
colony on the site of Mar- 
seilles, 109 

Arabic legend and the Moorish 
Castle, Gibraltar, 15 

Aragon, Kings of, Palace of 
the, at Barcelona, 67, 83 



Arbiter, Petronius, 122 

Aristophanes, and the sausage- 
seller, 148 

Aries, no 

Arsenoe, Temple of, and the 
story related by Catullus, 
252 

Aryan Achccans, 108 

Aryan and Semite struggle 
against Christianity and Mo- 
hammedanism, 4 

Athanasius at Alexandria, 236 

Athens, 96 

Atlantic, Ideas of ancient 
Greeks respecting the, 2 

Atlas, Mount, 29 

Attard, " village of roses," 291 

Attila, 233 

Augustine, St., and the angel, 
213; at St. Honorat, 150 

Augustus, and Turbia, 153 

Autran, Joseph, 122 

Avenza, 195 

Avernus, 338 

Avignon, 96 



B 



Bab-el- Sok, gate of the market- 
place at Tangier, 6 

Baias, 339 

Balzac, witty remark on din- 
ners in Paris, 89 

Balzan, 291 

Barbaroux, 122 

Barcelona, 21, 95, 123 ; eulogy 
of Cervantes, the prome- 
nades and the people, 61 ; 



INDEX 



353 



funerals, and the flower-mar- 
ket, 62; streets, Rambla, and 
cathedral, 65 ; Palais de Jus- 
tice, and Parliament House, 
66; Palace of the kings of 
Aragon, 67 ; museum, park, 
and monuments to Prim and 
Columbus, 69 ; bird's-eye 
view, Fort ^of Montjuich, 
Mont Tibidaho, 70 ; cemetery 
and mode of burial, 71 ; fes- 
tival of All Saints, 72 ; Cata- 
lonia, and the church of 
Santa Maria del Mar, 74; 
organ in cathedral, and the 
suburbs, ^^•, Gracia, T7; 
Sarria, 78; Barceloneta, 79; 
Academy of Arts, schools, 
music, the University, and 
workmen's clubs, 80; Arch- 
aeological Society, primary 
education, and places of 
amusement, 82; history of, 
83 ; trade, healthful properties, 
and charitable institutions, 
84; churches, convents, elec- 
tric lighting, population, and 
Protestantism, 86; democ- 
racy, and holidays of, 87; 
Mariolatry, 88 ; Caballaro, 
89; climate, 90; hotels, 90; 
good looks of the men and 
women, the police, 92 ; pro- 
gressive tendencies, the post- 
office and passports, 93 

Barco, Hamilcar, founder of 
Barcelona, 82 

Barral des Baux, 121 

Barthelemy, 122 



Baths of Barcelona, 90; of 
Cleopatra, 250 ; of Caratraca, 

44 
Bay of Biscay, i 
" Belgium of the East," The, 

251 

Bellet, Le, 139 

Belzunce, Monseigneur, and the 
plague at Marseilles, 113, 
114 

Bentinck, Lord W., and his at- 
tack on Genoa, 166 

Berenger, 122 

Berenice, and the Temple of 
Arsenoe, 252 

Bighi, 288 

Boabdil, last king of Granada, 

59 
Boccaccio, and the church of St. 

Lorenzo, Naples, 232 
Bordighera, 158 
Boron, Mont, 125 
Bouchard, M., and the Egyptian 

stone at Rosetta, 257 
Britain, and Tangier, 4; and 

the acquisition of Gibraltar, 

22 
Browning, Robert, and Gibral- 
tar, 6 
Brueys, Admiral, defeated by 

Nelson at Aboukir Bay, 254 
Buena Vista, Gibraltar, 14, 23 
Bull-fights at Barcelona, 82, 87; 

at Malaga, 54 
Burgundians, The, 109 
Burmola, 289 
Byng, Rear-Admiral, and the 

siege of Gibraltar, 22 



354 



INDEX 



Cabo de Bullones, Spanish 

name of Ceuta, 26 
Cadiz Bay, 6 
Cafe at Gibraltar, 11 
Cagliari, 96 
Cairo, 258; rising of the Nile, 

260 
Cala Dueira, 271 
Calpe, Rock of (Gibraltar), 2, 

14 

Camaldoli hills, 326 

Campyses, at Pelusium, 262 

Canal, Grand, at Venice, 222- 
228 

Cannes, 125, 130; "a Babel set 
in Paradise," 150; principal 
streets, and origin, 151 ; forti- 
fications of Vauban, and Ro- 
man remains, 152 

Capraja, 207 

Capri, 326 ; changes in appear- 
ance, 334; its fascination, 
339 ; historical associations, 
340; palaces of Tiberias, 
341 ; its beautiful women, 
342; Blue Grotto, 343 

Carabacel, 127, 138 

Caratraca, Baths of, 44, 50 

Carinthia, Dukes of, 233 

Carlos, Don, and the rising in 
Barcelona, 84 

Carnival at Nice, 133 

Carqueyranne, 147 

Carrara, church of St. Andrea, 
and the marble quarries, 196 ; 
mosquitos, 197 

Cartama, 51 



Carthagenians, and Genoa, 162; 

destruction of Selinus, 319 
Casal Curmi, 291 
Casal Nadur, 273 
Cassian, St., and the monastery 

of St. Victor, Marseilles, 116 
Castellaccio, Fort of, 297 
Castellamare, 345 
Castiglione della Pescaia, 209 
Castile, 25 
Castle, Moorish, at Gibraltar, 

15 

Catacombs at Alexandria, 249 

Catania, 302 

Cathedral, at Gibraltar, 13; at 
Marseilles, 98; at Genoa, 80; 
at Barcelona, 65 ; at Nice, 
129; at Almeria, 57; at Al- 
giers, 31; at Pisa, 194; St. 
Mark's, Venice, 224-226 . 

Catullus, and his story relating 
to the temple of Arsenoe, 252 

Cemetery at Alexandria, 248 

Cervantes, eulogium on Bar- 
celona, 61 

Ceuta, 17; origin of name and 
history of, 25 ; main features 
of, 26; ancient names, and 
shape of rock, 26 

Champollion, M., and the Egyp- 
tian stone at Rosetta, 258 

Charles Albert, King of Sar- 
dinia, and his palace at 
Genoa, 172 

" Charles III., King," 21, 22 

Charles V., 20 

Chateau d'lf, lOS 

Chiavari, 186 

Chioggia, 230 



INDEX 



355 



Cholera, The, at Marseilles, 112 

Cimiez, 127, 138; monastery 
and amphitheatre of, 139, 142 

Civita Vecchia, its founder and 
history, 213 

Cleopatra, and Antony, at Alex- 
andria, 236; Baths of, at 
Alexandria, 250 

Cleopatra's Needle, 246 

Columbus, Monument to, at 
Genoa, 177; monument at 
Barcelona, 69; his reception 
at Barcelona by Ferdinand 
and Isabella, 69, 83 

Cominetto, 270 

Comino, 268, 272 

Concha, General, and the sugar- 
cane industry of Malaga, 51 

Constantinople, 95 

Contes, 139 

Convent, Coptic, at Alexandria, 
248 

Coneto, " lifts to heaven a 
diadem of towers," 212; 
churches, Etruscan and Ro- 
man antiquities, and origin, 
213 

Cornigliano, 147 

Corno, Remains of, 212 

Corradino, 288 

Cosspicua, 289 

Cremation suggested for adop- 
tion in Barcelona, 71 

Cressy, Battle of, 179 

Cumae, 333, 339 

Cyclops, The, and the Scogli 
dei Ciclopi, 301 

Cyrus, 94 



D 



Damanhour, 258 

Damietta, 261 

Darby, Admiral, and the siege 
of Gibraltar, 18 

Delord, Taxile, 122 

Delta, Egyptian, Fertility of 
the, 258 

Djama-el-Kebir, Mosque at 
Tangier of the, 6 

Djurjura, The, 29 

Don, General, and the Alameda 
Gardens, Gibraltar, 13 

Doria, Andrea, and his influ- 
ence in Genoa, 164, 173; in- 
cidents in his life, 176 

Drinkwater, Captain John, and 
the siege of Gibraltar, 18 

Dumas, Alexandre, allusion to 
Pozzuoli, 338 

D'Urfe, 122 



" Eagle-Catchers," The (87th 
Regiment), 4 

Edward, son of King John of 
Portugal, and his expedition 
against Tangier, 25 

Egypt, variety of interest con- 
nected with, 238; inscribed 
stone at Rosetta, 257; agri- 
cultural wealth of, 258; the 
" gift of the Nile," 259 ; Eng- 
lish expedition of 1807, 256 

Elba, quarries and mines 
of, 203 ; Napoleon's confine- 



356 



INDEX 



ment, plans for improving 
the island, and his escape, 

. 203-206. 

El Hacho, signal-tower at Gib- 
raltar, 16, 26 

Elliot, General, Monument at 
Gibraltar to, 13; the siege of 
Gibraltar, 17, 18 

English statuary. Defective, 13 

Eryx, 318 

Esparto grass, 56 

Esperandieu, and the church of 
Notre Dame de la Garde, 
Marseilles, 117 

Estepona, 23 

Ester el. The, 148, 150 

Etna, 295-303 

Etruscans, The, 211 

Euganean Hills, The, 230 

Eugenie, Empress, Spanish 
origin of, 55 

Euroklydon, The, at Malta, 270 

Europa Point, Gibraltar, 13 ; 
cottage at, 14, 18 

Euthymenes, 97 ; statue at Mar- 
seilles, 100 



Falicon, 139, 144 

Famine at Genoa, 165 

Ferdinand, Don, and the Portu- 
guese at Ceuta, 25 

Ferdinand and Isabella, recep- 
tion of Columbus at Bar- 
celona, 69, 83 

Ferdinand IV., 317 

Ferrat, Cape, 141 



Fiescho, Count, 177 

Filfla, 271 

Flower Market, at Marseilles, 
102; at Barcelona, 63 

Follonica, 209 

Folquet, 121 

Formica, 209 

Fortifications of Gibraltar, 16; 
of Genoa, 164; of Cannes, 
152; Ventimiglia, 157 

Fortuny, his paintings at Bar- 
celona, 66, 80 

Fossa Claudia, 230 

France, and the siege of Gib- 
raltar, 16; captures Genoa, 
164; and Barcelona, 84 

Fraser, General, and the Eng- 
lish expedition to Egypt of 
1807, 256 

Frejus, Gulf of, 147 

Funeral at Venice, A, 229 

Funerals at Barcelona, 75 



Galliera, Duchess of, and the 
Palazzo Rosso, Genoa, 172 

Garibaldi, Birthplace of, 126; 
crossing Calabria, 298; land- 
ing at Marsala, 318 

Genoa, once a rival of Venice, 
160; its detractors, 161; the 
beauty of its women, 162; 
history, 163, 164; old and 
new towns, 166; position, 
and view from the slopes, 
166 ; mediaeval churches, 
narrowness of streets, and the 



INDEX 



357 



palassa, i68; the Via Nuova, 
170; Fergusson on the archi- 
tecture of, 171 ; the Palazzo 
Ducale, and the Statue of 
Hercules, 172, 173; incidents 
in the life of Doria, 176; 
monument to Columbus, 177; 
the "old dogana," 179; the 
Exchange, trade in coral, 
precious mefals, and filigree 
work, 180; the cathedral, 
180; reputed origin of, 182; 
church of L'Annunziata, and 
the Campo Santo, 182; the 
environs, 184 ; meeting-place 
of the Rivieras, 185 ; railway- 
to Spezzia, and places on the 
coast, 187 

George I., and Gibraltar, 22 

Giardini, 298 

Gibel Mo-osa, Moorish name of 
Ceuta, 26 

Gibraltar, 4; Robert Brown- 
ing's reference to, 6 ; resem- 
blance to a lion, 7; landing 
at, 8; variety of nationali- 
ties at, 10; picturesqueness, 
10; population, 11; strict 
military regulations, and 
chief objects of interest, 12, 
13; Moorish Castle, 15; 
fortifications, 16 ; siege of, 
16-19; capitulation to the 
Prince of Hesse, 22; the 
" key of the Mediterranean," 
21 

Girgenti, " City of Temples," 
monuments of Pagan wor- 
ship, and Pindar's designa- 



tion, 307; Temple of Con- 
cord, 309; Temple of Her- 
cules, ravages of earthquakes, 
and Shelley's allusion in 
" Ozymandias," 311, 312 

Golfe de la Napoule, 148 

Gondolas of Venice, 222 

Gothard, St., 228 

Gough, Colonel, his defeat of 
Marshal Victor at Tarifa, 4 

Government House at Gibral- 
tar, 23 

Gozo, 270, 272, 273 

Granada, 17, 59 

Greeks, at Gibraltar, 10; their 
trade at Marseilles, 106, 109, 
no 

Grimaldi, The, 179 

Gros, Mont, 139 

Grosseto, 209 

Grotto, at Malta and St. Paul, 
293; of Sta. Rosalia, 317; 
Di Posilipo, 335; at Capri, 

343 
Guelphs, The, and Genoa, 163 
Guzman, Alonzo Perez de, and 

his act of defiance at Tarifa, 

4 
Gzeier, 271 



H 

Hamilcar Barca, and Pelle- 

grino, 317 
Hamrun, 291 

Harbor of Marseilles, 106 
Plaroun al Rashid, reputed 

birthplace, 256 



358 



INDEX 



Hepaticas, Valley of, 139 

" Hercules, Pillars of," i, 2, 5, 

17 

Hercules and Temple at Gir- 
genti, 311; Temple at Selin- 
unto, 319 

Hesse, Prince of, and the ac- 
quisition of Gibraltar, 22 

Hicks, Captain, and the siege 
of Gibraltar, 22 

Hieroglyphics, Egyptian, at 
Rosetta, 257 

Hiram, and Malaga, 46 

Homeric era, " Pillars of Her- 
cules " in the, 2 

Honorat, St., 149 

Hougoumont, Chateau of, 15 

Hyeres, 96, 146 

Hypatia at Alexandria, 236 



I 



Iberian race of Genoa, 162 
Imtarfa, 292 
Ischia, 326 

Islands of the Blest, 2 
Israfel, The Angel, and a be- 
lief of the Moslems, 249 
Ivory on houses in Tangier, 5 



Jews, at Gibraltar, 10 

John of Portugal, King, takes 

Ceuta from the Moors, 25 
Joseph of Arimathea, and the 

sacro catino at Genoa, 181 



Jumper, Captain, and the siege 

of Gibraltar, 20 
Jupiter, Temple of, at Ortygia, 

304 



K 



Keats, Grave of, 194 



La Haye, Farmhouse of, 15 

La Mortola, Point, 157 

Laguna Morta, The, at Venice, 
230 

Landslip at Roquebrune, 156 

Lane-Poole, Mr. Stanley, and 
the Nile, 259 

Las Palmas, 296 

Lazarus, Legend respecting, at 

Marseilles, 116 

Leghorn, its dullness, 163 ; his- 
tory, and canals, 201 ; streets, 
harbor, trade, statue of Fer- 
dinand, and burial-place of, 
Smollett, 202 

Lentini, 302 

Leo, The constellation, and 
Berenice's locks, 252 

Lepanto, Battle of, 221 

Lerici, and Shelley's last days, 
192 

Lerins, Vincent de, at St. Hon- 
orat, 149 

Lesseps, M. de, and the Suez 
Canal, 264 

Lia, 291 



INDEX 



359 



Library, Garrison, at Gibraltar, 
13; at Alexandria, 247 

Lighthouse of Ta Giurdan, 272 

Liguria, noted for the cunning 
of its people, 162 

Ligurian Sea, 146 

Limpia, Harbor and village of, 
127 

Lion of St. Mark at Venice, 
226 

Lisbon, 21 

Louis XIV., 97 ; and the storm- 
ing of Barcelona, 83 

Luna, Remains of, 194 

Lyons, Climate of, 90 

M 

Macgregor, Mr. John (Rob 
Roy), and the ruins of 
Tanis, 263 

Magnan, The, 139 

Malaga, 95 ; rapid development, 
43; climate, general appear- 
ance, and convenient position 
for excursions, 44; the Al- 
pujarras, 44; Phoenician 
origin, 46; history, 48; water 
supply, 48; the vineyards, 
50; sugar industry, 51; Cas- 
tle, Grecian Temple, and the 
Alcazaba, 51 ; attractiveness 
of the women, 54; harbor, 
53 ; Almeria, 55 ; Cape de 
Gatt, 57; the Sierra Tejada, 
the Sierra Nevada, 58; Tre- 
velez and Alhendin, 59 ; Lan- 
jaron, the Muley Hacen, and 
the Picacho, 60 



Malamocco, 230 

Malta, 267 ; " England's eye in 
the Mediterranean," 267; for- 
merly a peninsula of Africa, 
and its fertility, 268; Gozo, 
Comino, and Cominetto, and 
the Fungus Melitensis, 270; 
the Gozitans, 272 

Man with the Iron Mask, 149 

Maremma, The, 209 

Marengo, Battle of, 165 

Marfa, 274 

Marguerite, Ste., 145 

Mariette Bey and the ruins of 
Tanis, 263, 264 

Mark, St., at Alexandria, 236; 
reputed place of burial, 250; 
Lion at Venice, 224 

Marriages of Greeks at Mar- 
seilles, 107 

Marsala, 318 

Marseilles; its Greek origin, 
and importance as the capi- 
tal of the Mediterranean, 94 ; 
history, 96, 109; appearance 
from the sea, 97; the Old 
Port and the Cannebiere, 
98, 99; the Bourse, prome- 
nades, and statues of Pytheas 
and Euthymenes, 100; flower 
market and the Prado, 102; 
the Corniche road and bouil- 
labaisse, 103, 104; Public 
Garden, Chateau d'lf, and 
the quays, 105 ; harbors, 
Greek merchants, and mar- 
riage customs, ic6-io8; 
Greek type in the physique 
of the people, 109; hotels, 



36o 



INDEX 



cholera, plague, and the mis- 
tral, 112, 113; Palais des 
Arts and the Church of St. 
Victor, IIS, 116; Church of 
Notre Dame de la Garde, 
117; Chain of Estaques, 
fortress, and people, 119; 
birthplace of distinguished 
men, 121 ; its proud position, 
123 

Martin, Cap, 156 

Mary, The Virgin, image at St. 
Victor's, Marseilles, 119 

Mascaron, 122 

Massa, Quarries and palace at, 
197 

Massena, General, at Genoa, 

i6s 

Mediterranean, The deep inter- 
est connected with the cities 
and ruins on the shores of 
the, 2; Tarifa, 3, 4; Tan- 
gier, 4-6; Gibraltar, 6-18; 
Algeciras, San Roque, and 
Estepona, 23 ; Ceuta, 25, 26 ; 
Marseilles, 94-123 ; Genoa, 
160-191 ; Barcelona, 61-93; 
Alexandria, 234-264 ; Nice, 
124-144; Malta, 267-294; 
Malaga, 42-60; Algiers, 28- 
41 ; Tuscan Coast, 192-218 ; 
Sicily, 295-324; Naples, 325- 
350; Venice, 219-233; The 
Riviera, 145-159 

Megara, Bay of, 303 

Mentone, 103 ; mountain paths, 
125, 131 ; walks and drives 
at, 157, 158 

Menzaleh, Lake, 262, 263 



Mery, 122 

Messina, route from Naples, 
295 ; general appearance, 
trade, cathedral, university, 
etc, 297 

Minden, 19 

Mirabeau imprisoned at Cha- 
teau d'lf, 105 

Misada, 291 

Mistral, The, 112; at Nice, 131 

Mole at Gibraltar, 9, 14, 15, 20 

Monaco, description of, 153, 

155 

Monreale, Cathedral and Ab- 
bey of, 316 

Monte Carlo, 131, its beauty, 

155 
Monte-Cristo and Chateau d'lf, 

105 

Montpellier, 90 

Monuments to Elliot and Wel- 
lington at Gibraltar, 13 
Moorish Castle at Gibraltar, 

15 

Moors in Gibraltar, 10; Ceuta 
taken from the, 25 ; in Spain, 

47 
Mosque of the Djama-el-Kebir 

at Tangier, 6 ; at Algiers, 31 
Mosques of Alexandria, 250 
Murano, 231 
Musta, 292 
Mustapha Pacha, 251 



N 



Naples, its population and 
trade, 95 ; beauty of position, 



INDEX 



361 



and charming environs, 325 ; 
sordid surroundings of the 
port, 327; streets, trades, 
and al fresco toilettes, 328; 
Piazza degli Orefici, and cru- 
elty to animals, 329, 330; 
snails, goats, water sellers, 
and chapel of St. Januarius, 
330; churches of Sta. Chi- 
ara, S. Domenico Maggiore, 
and S. Lorenzo, 332; an- 
tiquities of National Mu- 
seum, Capri, Villa Nazionale, 
and Grotto di Posilipo, 333; 
" Corniche " of Posilipo, and 
Roman ruins, 335 ; Pozzuoli, 
335 ; Monte Nuovo and Av- 
ernus, 337; environs of Baiae 
and Cumse, and fascination 
of Capri, 339; the drive to 
Castellamare, 345 ; Sorrento, 
346; Amalfi, 347; Salerno, 

349 

Napoleon, Wars of, and Tarifa, 
4 ; and Genoa, 165, 181 ; seiz- 
ure of Barcelona, 83 ; defeat 
at Alexandria, 251, 255; and 
a project for a Suez Canal, 
264; at Malta, 287; confine- 
ment at Elba, and escape, 
203-206; at Venice, 222 

Napoleon III., acquires Nice, 
129 

Negroes at Gibraltar, 10 

Nelson, feasted at the Moorish 
Castle, Gibraltar, 16; victory 
at Aboukir Bay, 253, 254; at 
Capraja, 207 

Nervi, 186 



Nevada, Sierra, 58, 59 

Nicsea, 126, 127 

Nice, 21, 96, 102; the Queen 
of the Riviera, 124; moun- 
tains, and its detractors, 125; 
three distinct towns — Greek, 
Italian, and French, 126; 
harbor and village of Limpia, 
and its early history, 127; 
Castle Hill, 128; Raiiba 
Capeu, and the mistral, 131 ; 
Italian division and the 
Promenade du Midi, 132; 
cathedral of St. Reparate, the 
modern town, and the 
Promenade des Anglais, 133; 
beauty of the private gar- 
dens, carnival and battle of 
flowers, 134, 135; the Jardin 
Public, quays on the Paillon 
bank and casino, 137; thea- 
tre, Prefecture, flower mar- 
ket, the Ponchettes, the Place 
Massena. the Boulevards 
Victor Hugo and Dubouch- 
age, Cimiez and Carabacel, 
138; suburbs, 139; the road 
to Monte Carlo, and Monaco, 
141 ; Villefranche, and the 
infinite charms of, 141 ; 
heights of Mont Alban, and 
the Magnan valley, 143 ; 
" gloriously beautiful," 144 

Nicholas Alexandrowitch, The 
Czarewitch, death at Nice, 
138 

Nile, The, alluvial deposit, 237 ; 
battle of the, 253 ; fertilizing 
properties, 260 



362 



INDEX 



Nimes, no 

Notabile, antiquity and manu- 
factures, 290; cathedral and 
churches, 292 

Nuovo, Monte, Z27 



" Oceanus River," designation 
of the Atlantic in Homeric 
times, 2 

Octavius, defeat of Antony at 
Mustapha Pacha, 251 

Odessa, 123 

O'Hara's Folly, tower at Gib- 
raltar, 17 

Orange, no 

Oranges, at Spezzia, 189 

Orbitello, Etruscan relics at, 
210 

Ortygia, Island of, 303 ; temple 
of Jupiter, and the Latonia, 
304; Greek Theatre, 305 

Ostia, 216, 217 

Ostrogoths, The, and Mar- 
seilles, 109 



Psestum, Temples of, 349, 350 

Paillon, The, 139 

Paintings in the Palais des 

Arts, Marseilles, 115 
Palazsi, The, of Genoa and 

Venice, 168 
Palermo, 312; first impressions 

disappointing, and the impos- 



ing aspect of the streets, 
312; the Palazzo Reale, 315; 
the Cappella Palatina, church 
of Martorana, and the Cathe- 
dral, 316; observatory, Mon- 
• reale, 316; museum, and the 
rocks of Pellegrino, etc., 321, 
322; the Piazza Marina, 322; 
its beauty at sunset, 323 

Pallanza, 147 

Pammilus of Megara, and the 
founding of Selinus, 319 

Pastoret, 122 

Patrick, St., at St. Honorat, 
150 

Paul, St., wrecked at Gzeier, 
271 ; popularity at Malta, 

293 

Peak of Teneriffe, and the rock 
at Ceuta, 27 

Pegli, 186 

Pellegrino, Monte, 316, 317 

Pellew, Admiral, and the de- 
struction of the pirate fleet, 
215 

Pelusium, ruins of, 263 

Perini del Vaga, his frescoes 
at Genoa, 175 

Petrarch, 2,?>2, 

Pharos of Tarifa, The, 3 

Philip v., 22; bombards Bar- 
celona, 83 

Phocsea, 94 

Phoenicians, their designation 
of Ceuta, 26; at Marseilles, 
95 ; and Malaga, 46 

Pianosa, 206 ; historical asso- 
ciations, 206 

Pietra Santa, 197 



INDEX 



3^3 



Pietro Negro, 271 

" Pillars of Hercules," i ; in 
Homeric times, 2, T) 24, 96 

Pindar and his designation of 
Agrigentum, 308 

Piombino, 207 

Pirates of Barbary, 97 

Pisa, rival of Genoa, 163 ; 
Cathedral, Campo Santo, 
baptistry, and leaning tower 
of, 198, 199 

Plague, The, at Marseilles, 112, 
113; at Palermo, 317 

Pliny, 247 

Polyphemus and Aci Reale, 
198 

Pompey's Pillar, 247 

Pons, St., 139 

Populonia, 207; defeat of Lars 
Porsenna of Clusium, and 
possession by the Etruscans, 
208 

Port Said, 258; coaling sta- 
tion, 262 

Porto (Tuscany), 216, 217 

Portugal, King John takes 
Ceuta from the Moors, 25 

Pozzuoli, Bay of, 326, 334, 335 ; 
town of, 335 ; allusion of 
Alexandre Dumas, 338 

Prim, Monument to, at Bar- 
celona, 69 

Proserpine, Temple of, at 
Imtarfa, 292 

Ptolemy Philadelphus and the 
Temple of Arsenoe, 252 

Punta de Africa, The, the 
African Pillar of Hercules, 
24 



Pyrgos, 214 

Pytheas, 97; statue at Mar- 
seilles, 100 



Q 

Quarry of the Cappucini, 305 



R 



Rabato, 272 

Rameses, and Pelusium, 263 

Ramleh, 251 

Rapallo, Bay of, 186 

Raphael, 175 

Raphael, St., 146 

Raymond des Tours, 121 

Recco, 186 

Revolution, French, and 
Venice, 222 

Riva, 147 

Riviera, The, general aspect, 
145; origin of name, 146; 
extent, and climate, 147; 
the Esterel, Agry, Golfe de 
la Napoule, 148; Ste. Mar- 
guerite, and St. Honorat, 
149; Cannes, 150-154; Mon- 
aco, 153; Monte Carlo, 155; 
Mentone, 155, 158; Roque- 
brune, 156, 157; Bordighera, 
and San Remo, 158; Alassio 
and Savona, 159 

Riviera di Levante, 146, 185 

Riviera di Ponento, 146, 185 

Rodney, Lord, and the siege of 
Gibraltar, 18 



364 



INDEX 



Roger II., 314 

Rogers, Samuel, on Andrea 
Doria, 173 

Romans, The, at Marseilles, 
97, no; at Genoa, 162; at 
Nicaea, 128; at Malaga, 46 

Ronda, Mountains of, 17 

Rooke, Sir George, and the 
siege of Gibraltar, 21 

Roquebrune, 156; quaint story 
connected with, 156 

Rose, The Chevalier, and the 
plague of Marseilles, 113 

Roses of the Riviera, 145 

Rosetta, 253 ; reputed birth- 
place of Haroun Al Rashid, 
256; English expedition of 
1807, 256; archselogical dis- 
coveries, 258 

Rosia Bay, Gibraltar, 14, 20,23 

Rostang, 121 

Rusellse, 211 

Ruskin, Professor, on St. 
Mark's, Venice, 223, 224 



Sacro catino, The, at Genoa, 

181 
Sahel Mountains, The, 30 
Sais, 263 

Salerno, temples at, 349 
Salles, De, 121 
Salmun, 293 

Salvian, at St. Honorat, 150 
San Remo, 131, 158, 159 
San Roque, 23 
San Salvador, 291 



Santa Croce, Cape, 303 
Santa Marinella, 214 
Santa Severa, 214 
Saracens, at Marseilles, 109; 

at Genoa, 163; at Civita 

Vecchia, 212 
Sarcophagus of Ashmunazar, 

King of Sidon, at Girgenti. 

308 
Savona, 159 
Savoy, Counts of, and Nice, 

129 
Scoglio Marfo, 271 
Scylla and Charybdis, 295 
Sebta, or Septem, derivation 

of " Ceuta," 25 
Segesta, 319; temples at, 320 
Selinunto, 319; ancient tem- 
ples at, 320 
Senglea, 289 
Serapeum, The, at Alexandria. 

248 
Serapis, Temple of, 236 
Seravezza, Marble quarries at, 

and Michael Angelo, 197 
Serpentine at Spezzia, 188 
Shakespeare, allusion to the 

Nile, 260 
Sheba, Queen of, and the sacro 

catino in the cathedral of 

Genoa, 181 
Shelley, last days at Lerici, and 

death, 192, 193 
Shovel, Sir Cloudesley, and the 

siege of Gibraltar, 21 
Sicily, appearance from the 

sea, 29s ; Messina, 296, 297 ; 

Taormina, 297, 298; Etna, 

and Aci Reale, 299, 300; 



INDEX 



36s 



Ortygia, 303 ; Syracuse, 303 ; 
Girgenti, 307; Palermo, 312- 
318; San Guiliane, 318; 
Selinunto, 318; Monte Pel- 
legrino, 322 
Siege of Gibraltar, 17-20 
Sierra of the Snows, The, 17 
Simos and Protis, supposed 

founders of Marseilles, 94 
Smollett, Tobias, Grave of, 

202 
Snails as an article of diet, 330 
Soldiers at Gibraltar, 11 
Sorrento, 130, 345; and Tasso, 

346 
Sovana, 211 

Spain, Rock of Calpe, 2 ; land- 
ing of first Berber Sheikh, 
3; antiquity of the Moorish 
Castle, Gibraltar, 15; driven 
from Gibraltar, 19; acquires 
Ceuta, 25 ; and Columbus, 
178; the most Catholic coun- 
try in the world, 74; great 
number of holidays, S7; 
Caballero, lady novelist, 88; 
piquancy of the women, 91 ; 
unsettled condition of, 92 
Spanish, The, at Gibraltar, 11 
Spanish Succession, War of 

the, 22 
Spezzia, Scenery around, 160; 
arsenal of, 168; exquisite 
scenery and remarkable sit- 
uation, 187; oranges at, 
189; villages around, 190; 
harbor and men-of-war, 191 ; 
Bay of, 192 



Stanfield's painting of Vico, 
346 

Statuary, English, its inferior 
character, 13 

Stone, Egyptian, with inscrip- 
tion, at Rosetta, 257 

Strabo, 247 

Stromboli, 317 

Suez Canal, 96, 123; construc- 
tion by M. de Lesseps, a 
dream realized, 264 

Syracuse, interest and beauty 
of, 303 



Taggia, 158 

Talamone, 211 

Tangier, Bay of, 4; distant 
view and features of the 
town of, 5 ; expedition of 
Edward, son of King John 
of Portugal, against, 25 

Tanis, Ruins of (Zoan of the 
Old Testament), 263 

Taormina, 297; elevation of, 
298; beautiful prospect and 
ruins of Greek theater, 299 

Tarascon, 96 

Tarif Ibn Malek, first Berber 
sheikh who landed in Spain, 

3 
Tarifa, The Pharos of, 3; the 
arms, town, and history of, 

4 
Tarquinii, Ruins of, 212 
Tasso and Sorrento, 346 
Tejada, Sierra, 58 



366 



INDEX 



Teneriffe, 296 

Termini, 312 

Terral, The, of Malaga, 43 

Tete de Chien, 153 

Thackeray and bouillabaisse, 
104 

Theodore, St., statue at Venice, 
226 

Thiers, M., 122 

Tiber, The, 215 

Tintoret, 175 

Titian, 175 

Torcello, the ancient Altinum, 
231 

Torre dell' Annunziata, Manu- 
facture of macaroni at, 345 

Trajan, founder of Civita Vec- 
chia, 216 

Tramontana, The, of the Rivi- 
era, 43 

Trapani, 318 

Trevelez, 59 

Trinacria, 318 

Turbia, The, 103 

Turks, at Gibraltar, 10 

Tuscan coast (see Lerici, Sar- 
zana, Carrara, Pisa, Leghorn, 
Elba, Civita Vecchia, etc.). 



U 

University of Barcelona, 80; 

of Velletta, 286 ; of Messina, 

297 
Urban V., Pope, and the church 

of St. Victor, Marseilles, 116 



Valletta, 267; fortress, build- 
ings, population, and abund- 
ance of labor, 274, 275 ; the 
Port, 275 ; military station, 
and peculiar construction, 
276; Strada Reale, 278; the 
people, and public buildings, 
280; the Knights, and vari- 
ous sieges, 284; military hos- 
pital, 286 ; the University and 
the prison, 286; visit of 
Bonaparte, and the Strada 
Mezzodi, 287; suburbs, 289; 
Notabile and Hamrun, 290; 
popularity of St. Paul, 293 ; 
cathedrals, 293, 294 

Vanderdussen, Rear-Admiral, 
and the siege of Gibraltar, 
22 

Vegetation at Marseilles, 104 

Veii, 212 

Venice, 95, 122; contrasted 
with Genoa, 160; rival of 
Genoa, 163 ; the palazzi of, 
168; a town unequalled in 
Europe, and general aspect, 
219; history, 221 ; formation 
and shape, 222; view of San 
Marco from the Piazza, 223- 
226 ; date of erection, restora- 
tion, and interior of St. 
Mark's, 225 ; view from the 
Molo, and the Grand Canal, 
226, 22y; a funeral, 229; is- 
lands sheltering it from the 
sea, 230-232 



INDEX 



367 



Ventimiglia, Fortifications of, 

157 
Venus, Temple of, shrine at 

Eryx, 318 
Venus Zephyrites, 252 
Vesuvius, 161, 326 
Viareggio, Recovery of Shel- 
ley's body at, 193, 198 
Vico, 346 
Victor, Marshal, dispersal of 

his army by Colonel Gough 

at Tarifa, 4 
Villa Franca, 21 ; treaty of, 

129; picturesqueness of, 141 
Virgil, reference to the cunning 

of Ligurians, 161 ; the Ely- 

sian Fields, 338 
Visigoths, The, 109 
Vittoriosa, 289 
Vulcano, 317 



w 



Wauchope, General, at Rosetta, 
256 

Wellington, Monument at Gib- 
raltar to, 13 

Whittaker, Captain, and the 
siege of Gibraltar, 22 

Women, of Genoa, 162; re- 
strictions at the Cathedral of 
Genoa against, 181 ; of Spain, 
92; of Nice, 129; their at- 
tractiveness at Malaga, 54; 
of Naples, 328 ; of Capri, 342 



X 



Xerxes, 94 



Young, Dr., and the Egyptian 
stone at Rosetta, 258 



Wade, Marshal, 13 
War of the Spanish Succession, 
22 



Zerka, 273 




CopyriglH, 1896, by 'I'lios. Cook & Sons 



